


The Diaries of a Gileadean Boy

by WiccaWonder_20



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, The Testaments - Margaret Atwood
Genre: BoyxBoy, Diary, Dystopia, Fanfic, Gilead - Freeform, Journal, M/M, Other, Runaway, TheHandmaid'sTale, Thriller, secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WiccaWonder_20/pseuds/WiccaWonder_20
Summary: The account of one boy from Gilead as he navigates escaping the brutal regime with the help of Mayday. Along the way he decides to write everything down: every detail, every memory, every secret. This is his story.The upload schedule for this work is intended to be every Thursday, until completion, just like the TV series (unless otherwise specified).EDIT, 14/03/2020: On a hiatus until I have caught up with writing further. The story has an end, which has already been written, I just need to get there. Please feel free to leave kudos or comment! Thank you for reading, and please be patient. More to come.Feel free to comment or give kudos or let me know what you think!
Kudos: 8





	1. 12th of October

**_I_** wish I could say this was an ordinary diary, or a journal, something to scribble in, but it could be the very last thing I write in at all. I am lucky that I can read and write, the girls aren’t allowed to at all. I don’t know how long I have so I will try to record anything and everything I can in this dark basement where I am currently hiding. Its twilight outside and I can barely see what I am writing with the moonlight streaming through the grimy windows but it’s better than nothing. After I am done here I will hide this behind a loose brick - there is one in the wall, in a spot which looks like it was bricked up much later, maybe where a fireplace or furnace was at one point? I don’t know, but in any case, contained herein will be secrets, heresy, things I would probably (almost certainly) be killed for. I will probably die after this which frankly scares the shit out of me, but I think I’ve accepted that is what awaits me once I am found here; picked up, carried away into the unknown.

So, where do I start? Hmm, I guess with some of the reason why I am hiding: I murdered my parents, or whom I thought were my parents. Seeing as how I am currently still within the Holy Republic of Gilead I assume whoever finds this will know about the culture, about the practices and ideas as well: I was borne of a Handmaid, named after my father, of course, as decreed by scripture. Although more of _Gileadean_ scripture, than _holy_ scripture. An important difference. I didn’t kill them because of that, I still loved and thought of them as my parents - to some extent. Fuck, even as I’m writing this I feel like crying. God, I regret it. I wish I had found some other way, some other way to exist, to be, to go forward. I should have run away, but I can’t. I got myself into this shit mess and now I must deal with the fallout. Wait, I think I can hear someone coming. I should hide these, because otherwise they might be destroyed. _The Eyes_ probably wouldn’t want a heretic or _gender traitor_ to find these scribblings.

People would then know the truth. Although with the things I have already heard I doubt it’s long before this whole house will come crashing down.


	2. 13th of October

**_A_** s we speak - or rather _write_ \- I am in the back of a truck, bouncing along some unknown road. It’s bumpy and dark and I just _wish_ I could close my eyes and sleep, but I can’t: we could stop any minute, and I need to be awake just in case something happens, and I need to run. I would try to keep this on me until I’ve written more, but I don’t know whether I would be able to or not. _Anyway…_

This truck smells like shit. As in _literal shit_. They probably carried bags of dung here in the back. Lord I can barely move; I am packed in by objects, odds and ends poking into me from all directions. I guess I should be thankful though. I’m moving, which makes it harder for me to be found, and there are several tarpaulins which just _happen_ to be hanging along the sides, covering up the slats between the bars and planks of wood. So there is that.

But where else do I begin from yesterday? Or rather several hours before, as the case actually is. There’s a darkened window in the back of the cabin behind my head and some of the light from in there is streaming through to here, so I can see what I’m doing. The streetlights from outside also shine down through to me. I shouldn’t move, and I shouldn’t have to move, me here scribbling against my legs which are alternately awkwardly crossed in front of me or bunched up to my neck. I am grateful for what other people have done for me; the secrets held inside, the blind eyes turned. The betrayals I am _not_ fucking grateful for. I’ll have the metaphorical and literal scars for as long as I am wandering this earth in solid form.

There are so many reasons I am here now: my parents, and what I did to them. The things I have seen, read, spied behind closed doors or through cracks _between_ doors. The things I have experienced, the people interacted with. My saint (more like angel), Luke. I wonder how he is doing. I hope he hasn’t been strung up somewhere. The last thing I knew he was on the run. He promised we could be together, that he’d get out with me. I miss him a lot. I feel like screaming-

Shit, now tears are smudging what I’ve written. I should have aimed for somewhere else to cry. Fuck, pull yourself together Percy, keep it together, inside. I don’t care who finds these, but you should at the very least keep them legible for whoever does eventually read through this.

I should distract myself, think of something else…

Well then. Even though this will make me cry I might as well be honest. Start from the beginning.

My name is Percy. Well, if you asked everybody else, save Luke, my name would be _Stephen_ , named after _the_ Christian martyr from _Acts_. But why do I call myself _Percy,_ instead of _Stephen?_ Well, that’s both an easy but hard thing to answer. Simply, because I like the name better. It fits me better. _Stephen_ is a lot to live up to. Such pious, holy heights that name climbs. _Percy_ just works well. As far as I know he wasn’t a saint, or a martyr. But also I was given that name by my mother. My _true_ mother, that is. I only know what she was called when she lived with us: _Ofwillean._ A stupid name, belonging to my father, which, of course, he is. Although I think I heard one of the Marthas of the house, Prue, mention that someone _else_ impregnated my mother. If that’s the case, I must thank them, because I don’t feel so attached, or so _dirty_ anymore, knowing that I was not borne of _The Ceremony_. Ritualised rape, essentially, for those of you who don’t know. At least they would have had _some_ fun or pleasure, and it wasn’t forced, at least not entirely, if what Prue said _is_ true at all. Anyway, as I was saying before, my _mother_ gave me this name. How do I know this even though she was transferred elsewhere once I was old enough to be weaned? Because she _wrote it down_.

Oh shit, the truck has stopped. I’ll stop here and continue on in a bit. I really wish I could sleep.

*******

So, as before, my mother wrote down my name. In a message, hidden in her room. It was written in pencil, I could barely it, on the back of the sliding wardrobe door in her room. I found it completely by accident. I was playing with friends, Hide and Seek, when we were little. Dad wasn’t at home; he was at a meeting. Mum was out walking, visiting a friend. The Marthas were looking after us. I ran upstairs, even though Prue said we shouldn’t because we might fall and hurt ourselves. I was only six or seven, or maybe eight then. I didn’t, just so you know. Not that time, anyway.

So, I ran upstairs and to a disused part of the house. it seemed colder here, darker, dustier. It wasn’t in use much; from what I can remember. Mainly storage. What other use would they have for that room, since I was there. Why keep it clear and open if you don’t have someone else - a Handmaid or other - living there?

I opened the door carefully, since I don’t think I was supposed to be back there, slipped inside, and made a dash for the sliding door wardrobe. It didn’t have a mirror, which made sense, at the time. Vanity wasn’t a virtue, it wasn’t supposed to be practiced or thought or entertained, but it was there. An undercurrent, and an undercurrent which has served me well, worrying about how I look, especially when I began seeing Luke on the sly. But not having a mirror served another purpose. No mirror meant no glass, no glass meant no shattering, no shattering meant no pieces, no pieces meant no weapons, no stabbing of guts or slashing of wrists or throats.

I closed the door after me, making sure to slide the doors into place, making sure to leave a tiny sliver of space out of which I could see the rest of the room, and a bit of the door to the room, so I could see if anyone was coming. It was dark and dusty inside of the wardrobe. Boxes stood stacked at the furthest end from me, and clothing dangled above in plastic wrapping. I sneezed several times, and I waited, looking around, not really at anything or in search of anything in particular. But then I noticed something, something scrawled carefully on the wood of the inside of the door. I thought it was a shadow, or some scratches from when the glass was taken out, but I scooted closer, wanting to make sure. And that is when I saw it, illuminated and subsequently read for what must have been the first time in a long time, the message written in light, faded pencil, barely visible:

_My child’s name is Percy._

I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it was a few days later when I heard Prue potentially mention something about my Dad _not being_ my actual Dad that I began to quietly question. When I was about eleven or twelve I internally abandoned Stephen, and took on the mantle of _Percy_. It felt oddly freeing, even if it was only an ideological freedom or change. I began to resent my name, even though that is oddly pointless, because a name is just a title, but the expectations that _Stephen_ weighed on me as a Christian martyr began to press down hard, and I began to resent it. Internally I now think of that name and that former, subservient self as _Ofstephen_ , out of pure spite. Everybody calls- _called_ me Stephen, except for Luke. _He_ is one of the few good things to come from Gilead - the opportunity to meet and bond with.

No, no more hiding, not within these pages. Don’t cry Percy…

 _Fall in love with_.

Okay now I am starting to tear up - I don’t know whether from emotion or from the cold. Maybe I should write something else down, think of something else. I wish it wasn’t so cold.

*******

So now I am in a different place, apparently, a new house, but not without some trouble.

After I finished writing earlier we came to another set of traffic lights. It seemed quieter here, like we were heading out of the city and into outer suburbia. I could only _really_ tell because the skyscrapers stopped showing over the sides of the truck. A few blaring alarms on police vehicles sped past us a few times and I nearly shat myself each time. I thought that The Eyes had somehow found me. But one never drew up alongside. I never heard the muffled voices or the static coming closer. Thankfully.

I do sometimes wonder what it would have been like to _not_ be a supposed heretic, or sinner, but how can that be when my feelings and ideologies are as natural as breathing? It just doesn’t make sense. Although I guess if you’re looking for sense you wouldn’t look to Leviticus (wow that act of blasphemy was thrilling, but its true, or at least what I think).

When we finally stopped I had to get out quickly. I tucked the pencil behind my ear and clutched the notebook to my chest. It was dark: a back lane, fences rising on either side of me, and I had to be quick, lest someone happen to look out and see me sneaking. I didn’t exactly know where I was going but all that the driver of the truck told me was that I was to go to the gate which was near a low tree or bush with red berries on it - or else white flowers, and that once I was inside I was to say something along the lines of “Nice Mayflowers.”

Eventually I found it: the flowers and berries were spilling over the top of the corrugated iron fence, and the gate was barely ajar. I looked back to the truck. The driver was standing next to it, looking my way. I waved my hand, they nodded, clambered back up into the truck, shut the door, started the engine. I carefully pushed the gate open. It let out a shrill shriek and I froze. The rumbling of the truck’s engine seemed to have covered the sound. I pushed more, and the gate opened just wide enough for me to slip inside. Immediately I was assaulted by flowers and branches. I let the gate go and some of the branches from the bush (more like a tree) pushed it back to almost-ajar. The rumblings of the truck grew distant as it pulled away, and I made my way out of the bushes.

A small path had been harrowed into the ground, and the bushes and trees formed a natural archway. Then, I emerged into a backyard, huge, with a two-storeyed and gabled house looming over me. Trees and flower bushes ran along all sides of the backyard, untamed, huge. The non-evergreen trees looked skeletal in the moonlight. One of the basement windows was alight. I side-stepped into the shadows, but someone moved across the light, and then the light vanished. I froze, hoping I was in the right place. Somewhere off to the side something creaked open, and then footsteps crunching through the frozen grass. A shadow appeared around the side of a huge, which was then revealed to be a man, older, mid-to-late fifties. I stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight and there we stood, facing one another. I said nothing. Nor did he, for a moment.

I really hoped I was in the right place, more than anything.

“Well?” He said, softly yet firmly. He seemed tense, which is fair enough. It’s not everyday you hide someone on the run and trying to flee the country without being caught.

I didn’t reply right away. I was trying to read him in the darkness, but nothing. No anger, no snide smirk. Nothing. So, I replied.

“Nice mayflowers,” I said. He seemed to relax slightly, almost imperceptibly. I was at the right place.

“Yes,” he commented offhandedly. “I have let them get a bit out of control, though.”

“It’s useful,” I said with a shrug. “Provides… cover.”

Another silence. I waited.

He stepped forward and shrugged his large overcoat off of his shoulders and threw it around me. It was slightly too long for me, but it was warm, and it had his scent. Some deodorant I can’t remember the name of, and lavender. “We should get you inside.”

“Thank you,” I murmured as we moved around the side of the house. Now that we were moving, more shapes loomed. A wheelbarrow, a hose reel, pavers under my feet, flowerbeds half-consumed by out-of-control bushes and trees. “For doing this.”

“No trouble at all,” he murmured distractedly. “Just doing my bit for the greater good.”

I didn’t reply, at least not to that. _Greater good_. That’s what the Commanders who founded this republic were doing, supposedly. _For the greater good._

How ironic.

We descended the basement steps and into the darkness. I waited at the bottom as the man turned, went back up the stairs, and pulled the doors closed again, making sure not to make them crash against the metal sides they lay upon.

“Now, let’s get you settled in…” He once again murmured.

“Thank you once again, for doing this…” I said, feeling foolish, yet like I had to. I trailed off, since I didn’t know his name.

“Sir… Commander Johnson,” he supplied. He picked up a blanket from a spare bed he seemed to have stored down here, flicked it, smoothing it out but also sending dust into the air, before setting it back down. I turned, and he was looking at me. “Well then,” he said, “Get some rest, and stay quiet. I’ll show you where to… go tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Yes Commander Johnson,” I said almost robotically, nodding. He pulled his mouth into a thin line, and nodded, then left.

So that is where I am now, hiding in the basement of a commander’s house. I should be frightened, worried of being discovered, but I’m too tired to care. I think it is time to put you away for the night, dearest. Let my hand and mind rest.

Thank fuck.


	3. 14th of October

**_J_** ust as he said he would, he came down and then took me upstairs and showed me where to go whenever I needed the loo, and also where to get food from. And where to avoid the windows where people might see in. He also tacked up sheets over the basement windows, so the light is slightly less, but I can still see. I just shouldn’t have the light on down here all the time, in case someone notices.

I wish making my way from one safe place to the next were easier. Although I guess this is why Gilead was set up and designed the way it was, and is - so doing stuff like this is impossible. Or as near-impossible as is _humanly_ possible.

Even though I felt ridiculous asking I felt I had to. At the last place, which was the first, I waited four weeks before being moved here, so of course I want to know when I’m being moved.

“I know about as much as you do…”  
“Percy,” I supplied, while he put up one of the sheets and pinned it in place with a thumbtack.

“… _Percy._ Right, well, when it is time for you to go, it’s time for you to go. I’ll know as soon as you do.”

“Well…” I murmured. “Fair enough then.”

Commander Johnson turned and looked at me. “Mayday isn’t exactly known for their consistency. They’ll come and get you when they come and get you.”

Neither of us said anything more, yet there was more he could have said. I’m not that much of an idiot. _Or they won’t, and you end up being stuck here_ -

I don’t even want to consider that. I should think about something else…

(Oh wow I’m blushing but here we go.) _When I met Luke for the first time._ Wow I’m smiling already. Although perhaps when I think about this more it isn’t such a happy thing after all, all of the internal conflict which I didn’t dare tell anybody, which began a long time ago now that I look back at it.

It all started when I was six or seven. Mum and Dad - or those I thought to be - and I were attending Mass. It was simple enough: I was little, bored, looking around, listening to the priest give the sermon. I don’t remember what on, I was little, and obviously uninterested, especially with the whole outside world that could be explored. I looked up and over at an icon of Jesus on the Cross, wearing his crown of thorns. I remember looking at it, and for some reason _liking it_? Of course it didn’t dawn until puberty but then it was simply that I liked the way he looked. His defined physique clicked with something deep inside of me. Dad nudged me and I turned back up to the front, feigning pious interest and fervour.

Later on, at school and such, when we were older, between ten and twelve, we were given lessons about our bodies, and how we were to respect them, and also about the _urges_ we might be getting and how we shouldn’t give into them. One of the odd things about this whole educational experience was that there were hardly ever any girls around. We encountered them in the forms of Aunts or Handmaids or mothers or Wives or Econopeople, and siblings, but apart from that our lives were segregated. Boys were with boys; girls were with girls. We were told that having children was an obligation as well as a gift, a sacred task and pleasure saved until after marriage, when it would be possible to consummate it and our burning passions with our own Wives, and bring forth children.

We, of course, knew that we might also require Handmaids. Indeed, a large number of us were born that way, including my sister, Myrtle, who is someone else I should mention.

Backtracking a few years, Mum and Dad decided that they wanted another child which, while potentially being seen as greedy, was possible, and so they managed to secure another Handmaid, again to be called Ofwillean. It wasn’t long before she began to balloon, and so I knew she was pregnant. When I look back at this I know - and note with no reserved amount of irony - that it was not, in fact, Willean who fathered my sister, but someone else, maybe the same man who fathered me, maybe not. I don’t know, and probably never will. I began to get treated and noticed a lot more by people at school as news about Ofwillean’s pregnancy began to spread. Of course they weren’t _supposed_ to know about it but when gossip this juicy is found out, it spreads like wildfire.

Luke was one of the people to start paying attention to me. I certainly had seen him around the place with his group of friends. Mr Popular, with blonde hair cut neatly atop his head, and big, expressive blue eyes which always seemed to shine. We somehow became close friends really quickly. He always knew how to make me laugh, and I always seemed to make him interested in whatever I was talking about at the present moment. From that moment we began to grow up and change together, so that when it came time to move onto the next stage of our schooling at the age of thirteen I began to… _notice_ things about him I shouldn’t have, or thought I shouldn’t. The way he would smile, especially if it was aimed at me, made my stomach feel fuzzy, as well as thunderous. When I’d hear his voice I would heat up despite myself. Infuriatingly so, so that my scalp would itch from being so hot.

But while all of this was going on, the words of Leviticus weighed heavily on me: _man shall not lie with man as he does with a woman, it is an abomination_. Moreover, we had been taught that only heretics and sinners of the worst kind had _relations_ with the same sex, that they were dirty, insane, possessed. Any number of things, which would vary depending on the teacher of the day or class - in this case, Home and Family. Luke and I would often laugh about these classes afterwards, either at breaks or between classes, pointing out the inconsistencies in low voices, just in case we got caught “questioning the Word of God” and were punished. We almost had each one together by then: we would sit at the back of the classroom and laugh and talk and pass notes to each other when we were supposed to be silently working or reading.

One thing which unnerved us though were the displays of so-called _gender traitors_ when caught: strung up by the neck, almost always in soiled, filthy clothing, with sacks over their head, emblazoned with upside down, violently pink triangles. Everybody looked down on them, with distain, with distaste, or even with pity. We were careful not to be _too_ close, for fear of being perceived as a gender traitor, and being executed for it. No one would have willingly chosen this, knowing the risks, which is part of why I’ve come to the conclusion that this is natural. I have known nothing else. I tried to squash these burgeoning feelings for Luke at every opportunity, thinking I was wrong, a sinner, a heretic, that it was simply being confused, that this would stop eventually. I tried looking at girls in the same way, and while there was a little bit of curiosity there wasn’t the same sort of natural feeling as there was with Luke. I tried to pray it away, ignore the feelings, crush them, but they would not go away.

I was allowed to read, unlike any of the females within our household, which would prove advantageous for me. Dad kept a lot of books in his bedroom, his study, as well as the attic (the boxes having been moved from the Handmaid’s room and simply never moved back once she left). A lot of them would have been considered _heretical_ , that’s why there were amnesties of them, and burnings: books on _science, evolution,_ history before Gilead (even history before America), different cultures. He probably knew I was sneaking books, I wasn’t particularly careful, but he didn’t seem to realise which ones, and if he did, he didn’t say anything, not until later anyway. It was through this avenue that I learned that there were other people like me. The LGBT+ rights movement of 1890s Berlin, the various figures who seemed just like me, dotted throughout the pages of history; _Joan Crawford, Oscar Wilde_. I found out a lot more than what others thought I should have, but I am all the richer for it. I began to question scripture, and whether it was a sin at all to have the same feelings for the same sex as most others would for the other sex. Suddenly I had a lot more questions: _did other people feel the same way as I did_?

I did end up asking someone, but by doing so I put myself at huge risk of being exposed as a _gender traitor_ , and I have no idea what would have happened then. Not that it did much in the end, only forestalled the inevitable.

I went downstairs, before dinner but when it was dark outside. Dad was in his study, on a conference call which seemed to be taking longer than usual. Mum was elsewhere in the house, and the other Martha was looking after Myrtle, as she was only a year or so old by then. I found my favourite Martha, Prue, at the stove stirring a pot of what would prove to be stew. I remember the steam hissing from the top of it. I hovered near the doorway to the kitchen. Prue had obviously heard my footsteps, but she didn’t turn around. She just spoke.

“If you’re wondering when dinner is going to be ready it won’t be for another twenty minutes at least.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, internally reeling. I inhaled and then sighed heavily. I could feel myself begin to shake. Prue picked something up from the counter beside her and put it into the pot, stirred it again, before setting down the spoon. She turned around and looked at me. She must have sensed something was wrong because of my silence. She pulled out a chair and gestured to it.

“Here, come sit down,” she said, concerned. I slowly made my way over and dropped down into the chair, staring down at the floor.

“Something is bothering you,” she said. It wasn’t a question, I know that. More of a statement. It was interesting how she could read me like that, although I guess how I was feeling inside was showing outside. “What is it?”

I felt light, as if I might float out of my body at any moment. As far as I could tell there was only concern, no judgment, coming from her, yet I was horribly terrified. I licked my lips, and sighed. I was staring over the edge of a cliff, not knowing if I should step forward or not, and what would happen if I did. But I already knew what I had come down here to do, and I would do, so I did.

“I- is it normal- no- _natural_ to…” I paused. I could feel the sweat and heat pushing themselves out of my pores. My body was in full panic mode. _Fuck fuck fuck how could I have been so stupid to come down here and ask this run away run away now_ \- “… like someone else…” Prue’s brow furrowed. I looked up and at her face. I could almost see the cogs turning behind her eyes. Then they softened ever so slightly. She didn’t say anything, so I continued, almost a whisper.

“… another boy?...” My voice shook and died at the end, and luckily I didn’t have anything else to say because I wouldn’t have been able to. I sucked in my lips and looked down at the ground, so afraid of what would come next. _What the fuck have you done Percy you are such a fucking idiot you’ll end up strung from a lamppost or from a wall like they do elsewhere-_ I shut my eyes and tried to suppress the sobs of existential fear as my mind screamed at me that I had fucked up. I waited for a blow, a shout, a scalding word… but nothing came.

I looked up. Prue got up, her expression neutral, moved over to the stove and turned down the heat and stirred the stew a little more before sitting back down in front of me. She sighed heavily, and then looked up at me, and I nearly let go, right then and there. I didn’t find judgment or anger or disgust in her eyes, I just found concern, sadness at my sadness, but affection.

Acceptance.

Prue looked down, she appeared to be searching for what she could say. But then she just looked up, and put her arms around me, and pulled me into a hug. I collapsed at last and buried my face into her shoulder as my cries finally spiled over. She was warm, comforting, much more like how I imagined my real mother and maybe even father, to be.

“Now, you know how I feel about certain rules of this place, and how I don’t necessarily agree with them,” she said, and I nodded against her shoulder. She had told me throughout the time I had known her that she didn’t agree with everything that Gilead did. Indeed, she didn’t agree with a lot of what was said in the Bible either, or the supposed Word of God. “In the time Before, I knew lots of people like you.” She said, slightly sombre. My tears began to stop flowing as thick and as fast. I began to sniffle. She rubbed my back. “I didn’t care who they liked, so long as they were happy. And, I know you wouldn’t have asked me this if you didn’t trust me enough and I am so happy that you feel you can, because I care about you.” This brought on fresh tears and I screwed my eyes shut as quiet sobs bubbled their way up. Prue shushed me and continued. “I do not think that God truly cares who you do or do not love, so long as it is love, and you are faithful to them as well as Him.” I nodded furiously, so relieved she wasn’t going to judge me. I felt heavy, drained, relieved. Then she sat back, and so did I. She grabbed my face in her hands.

“However, you must not tell _anyone_ about this, do you understand?” She said, shaking my head slightly, emphasising her words. I nodded. “This is extremely important for you. I would not suggest telling this person unless you are absolutely certain that they feel the same way, or that they won’t judge you.” Or turn you in to The Eyes, was the unspoken addition to the sentence. We both knew what this meant, that if anyone found out it could mean being sent to some form of Conversation Therapy, or worse. I had heard the rumours.

“Now, is that all you came to ask me?” She asked. I nodded, sniffling and wiping my eyes. I couldn’t help but smile. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I felt light, but now in a good way. I was free. “Good,” said Prue. She smiled. “I won’t tell anyone, you know that. I wouldn’t.” I nodded and smiled.

“Thank you, so much,” I said, voice slightly hoarse.

“What for? I know that you are not a sinner, and I know that you didn’t choose this. I do not think God would have made you this way just to have you suffer. I do not think He is like that.” Prue replied with a shrug. “Now, get down those cups, get out the cutlery and the bowls and set them out on the table, then go find Clarice and tell her that dinner is almost ready.”

Okay I have just reduced myself to tears recalling this, but I needed to get it down. That was such a transformative time for me, though. I do not think that God would have made me this way if he had a problem with it, which is another inconsistency I do not understand. I didn’t choose this, I am not a sinner, there is nothing wrong with me. But now I must stop. My hand hurts from writing all of this down, and I am tired and can barely see what I’m doing. I’ll put this away for the night. Until next time, dear tome.


	4. 15th of October

**_T_** oday was odd. It was both sedentary yet purposeful. I slept in, more than I have in the past four days, which is a blessing for which I can thank Commander Johnson. But then I got up and went up the stairs to use the bathroom. I smelled and I needed a shower. I found some spare clothes on the counter in the bathroom. They were older and not exactly to my shape or size but they fit, and they were clean, so there is that. 

Once I stepped into the shower everything just seemed to hit me, how I’ve lost, what I have done. So much.

Too much.

Needless to say I had a breakdown, and I prayed for God to forgive me, because right now, I don’t think I can or even _should_ forgive myself.

*******

Once I got out of the shower and changed into my clothes I emerged out into the hallway. Commander Johnson was waiting a little distance down the hallway. He walked over to me and then took my dirty clothes from me.

“Follow me,” he said, and so I did. I didn’t know what else to do.

“Thanks for the clothes,” I said as we walked down the hallway. We stopped just next to the staircase I had come up earlier to get to the bathroom and thus upper floor: it was a spiral staircase, with thin, black railings. There was a plate fitted into the wall, with a small handle at the top of it. He pulled the handle and the plate dropped forward with a _clunk._ It was a laundry chute. He dropped my clothes inside and shut it with another _clunk._

“So, that is where the clothes go. One of the Marthas will take care of them,” he said dismissively. Then he moved past me and began to ascend the stairs. I stayed in place. “Well?” He said. “Follow me.”

So I did, robotically, one foot in front of the other, clambering up the metal steps, rising to the next floor. We got to the landing and moved out into the hallway which lay in front of us. The wall off to the left was slanted. _So this is the attic_ , I thought.

Commander Johnson turned right down the hallway and then opened a door, the second of what should have been three along the wall in front of us, but there wasn’t one. He turned and looked at me, before beckoning me to follow, so I did. Again. He vanished inside the room, and so did I. I, of course, shut the door behind myself.

The room beyond was chaotic: boxes upon boxes and old and disused furniture was scattered around. A standing mirror stood in the corner, covered by a sheet. On the right-side wall was a huge old painting. It almost touched the ceiling, and didn’t quite touch the floor. I opened the door and looked down the hallway again. _Ah ha_. _Thought so._ I moved back into the room and shut the door.

“What’s behind the painting?” I asked. Commander Johnson raised his eyebrows.

“You spotted that, huh?” He said. He almost sounded impressed. “I was just bringing you up here to ask you to shift some of this stuff into some sort of order for me, since you’re going to be here a while. I don’t know how long, though,” he added, before I could ask. “But, if you want, you can go into the room behind the painting. It’s a library,” he added as he kicked one of the smaller crates in front of it to the side. He slid his fingers under the edge of the frame, feeling for something. Then he found it, pushed it up, and then moved the painting forwards, revealing a hole in the wall which couldn’t possibly have been original to the room. The room beyond was dark, and dusty.

“Be careful in there. Lots of those books and items are really old, and delicate,” he said. “Also don’t open the shutters. If people notice the window is suddenly open they’ll wonder why, especially since its supposed to be closed.”

I nodded, and stepped through carefully.

“Well then,” he said. He didn’t seem to know what else to say. “See you… whenever. Dinner is at six, so be sure to come down before that.”

“What if there are… other people here then?” I wondered aloud, suddenly worried. He chuckled.

“There won’t be. I’ll let you know if anyone has to come over.” He replied, placating me. “So, yeah… I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” I said. He nodded, then turned and left.

I emerged back out of the library, and began moving boxes and furniture - or at least attempting to; some of the stuff must be chestnut or oak, and 18th or 19th century. It’s so fucking heavy! My back is still aching! I kept the mirror in the corner, and moved an old loveseat against the wall, before stacking boxes on top of it. There was also a dresser which refused to move more than an inch or two without throwing myself against it multiple times, which I didn’t and don’t feel like doing; although I have already sustained two bruises on one arm from throwing myself against the dresser so I guess it is kind of a moot point now. I find something interesting though. One of the draws popped open slightly. I had gotten the impression that Commander Johnson was a little bit of a recluse. The house seemed very quiet. I had seen one or two other people wandering the hallways (Marthas) but aside from them, himself, and I, we were totally alone. Curiosity got the better of me, and I reached inside the draw and withdrew the first thing I saw and felt. It was a small silver-plated photo frame, black and white. The photo of a younger Commander Johnson, and his wife. I know this because a message was scrawled on the chipboard backing of the frame: _Dearest_. There was nothing else, no name, no nothing. He was a widower.

The room suddenly seemed colder, darker, more empty. I put the frame back in the drawer, closed the drawer and began shifting around more boxes, some of the chairs scattered about, crates and other detritus. I couldn’t let myself dwell on this, not when I very well could be a widower myself.

_Oh Luke, wherever you are, I hope you’re safe! Or at least at peace_.

*******

So, after rearranging for hours, I descended, dusty and exhausted, down the spiral staircase and into the dining room, where dinner was being served. The space was large, dark browns with silver touches. The dining table was long, polished to a fine finish, with a pair of twin candelabras at either end. The curtains were drawn, as the dining room faced out to the street, and we couldn’t risk anyone spotting me. The dinner itself was simple: roast beef, roast potatoes, beans, mustard gravy. I was seated on Commander Johnson’s left side. We ate in silence for a while (I obviously didn’t know what to say) until a thought floated across my mind. It was probably not pertinent of me to ask, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“While I was cleaning upstairs…” I began.

“Yes I heard,” he said, without looking up from his plate.

“… I came across a photograph of someone,” I blurted out. Commander Johnson didn’t look up from his plate. He just continued chewing.

“A small silver frame of you and someone, maybe your wife?”

Still nothing.

“Would you like me to bring it down?” I asked again. There was a long pause, and I instantly wanted to reel in my words.

“That photo was put there for a reason.” He said. Not loudly, not shortly, simply stating a fact. “I do not want to see it.” Now he sounded slightly more firm.

“Okay,” I said. “I just thought it might have been put there by mistake…” I trailed off as I saw his expression: hurt, anguished, loneliness, all registering in his features, but mainly in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You didn’t, I understand why, but I would prefer that you did not go through my things next time,” he said. He swallowed, then picked up his wine glass and took a longer sip of red wine, licked his lips, and put the glass back down. He sighed. I looked down at my plate and had another bite of mustard-gravy-drizzled potato.

“I might have to move you sooner than I thought,” he said. I looked up, surprised.

“I thought you didn’t know when I would be moved,” I said, confused.

“I don’t, but I think it would be best. Especially after what happened a month or so ago.”

I froze, the beans on my fork dripping gravy. I looked up and saw his gaze.

“After _what_ happened?” I asked slowly. He raised his eyebrows.

“Really? A house burns down and then a little while later Mayday sends someone for me to look after for a while? Really, I’m not that stupid.” He replied simply. Suddenly my throat was dry, I couldn’t swallow anything. I lowered my fork slowly. What was he going to do?...

“So you know, then,” I stated. He regarded me for another moment, then replied.

“I know _that_ , at least. The Eyes are looking for you; I think you’re going to have to be moved elsewhere.”

_I think_ was silent, it was _definitely_ the case that I was going to have to be moved.

“How long?” I asked. I drank some more of my water and wished it was some of the Commander’s red wine.

“A week, or two, no more than that.” He said. It was my turn to sigh.

“Well then,” I said. “Thank you for your hospitality in advance.

“No problem at all,” he said. I considered getting up for a moment, faintly hearing a fire crackle in some nearby fireplace. Probably the kitchen.

“I would suggest finishing that before fleeing downstairs,” said Commander Johnson. “It’ll help keep you warm down there. Also, if you need any more blankets, just ask.”

I nodded, reeling. The Eyes were after me, as I knew they would be. But how much did they know? What was I going to do now?

So now that is where I am, the darkness below, the cold stone walls of the basement surrounding me. I can’t help but feel trapped, closed in, cold in spite of the other three blankets the Commander kindly supplied me with. I wish I was somewhere else.

I wish Luke was here. He somehow made things seem less insane, or brutal, or scary.


	5. 16th of October

**_W_** hile I am grateful for the mental reuniting this _isn’t_ exactly what I meant: I woke up to cum-stained boxers, which, to be fair, isn’t exactly anything new, it is not the most welcome thing in the world when you don’t have an infinite supply of fresh clothes you can change into, or somewhere to wash them. I wonder how I’m going to explain this.

That boy did have a sweet mouth on him though, I’ll give him that.

Aaaand just like that, I’m hard - again. Wait - did I just refer to him in the past tense?

Oh fuck. No no no this can’t be happening. I don’t know anything beyond what we planned, I don’t know where he is, what he’s doing, whether he is alive or dead. I hope it’s the former, not the latter, because then I have some chance of seeing or being with him again. I have to distract myself somehow.

I need to change these boxers, and these sheets. Yay for buildup/backup.

I think I know what to think about or write about next. I’ll come back in a little while, after I see if anything else needs to be done. This I can certainly say is happier than anything else I’ve written here so far.

******* ****

So now I am up in the top of the house, still shifting boxes and trying in vain to push one of the heavier stuff to the side of the room. Of course this isn’t happening, so now I’m going to write this. Maybe I should try and shift stuff in the hidden library. It isn’t the easiest thing in the world to see in there. I should try and find a candle and matchbook.

On second thoughts no, open flames and dry, old books is a no-go. So, what was I going to say before? Oh yeah, the happy memory - _memories,_ rather.

As I was coming into my sexuality I began to like Luke more and more. I couldn’t help this, and after finally coming out to Prue I didn’t really try to stop it. At least, not as much. I was still terrified, and rightfully so, that someone - the _wrong_ someone - would find out and I’d end up sent away to be exorcised, or to live elsewhere, that I would be hurt. Or killed. I didn’t _dare_ tell Luke, even though we seemed to be getting closer and closer as time went on. I grew up, matured, and so did he - which was blissful torture. The solid, arched eyebrows darkening, jawline becoming more firm, and sharper.

Muscles and _other things_ developing. I’m drooling and getting hard as we speak; or else as I write this. I couldn’t help but try to ogle him. He was just _so gorgeous_. I didn’t try to act on it, though, because I knew, or thought I knew, nothing would happen. He didn’t date or flirt with any girls, nor did I. Moreover, I thought he would have been too devout (despite us making fun of and pointing out inconsistencies within scripture) to tell, and I couldn’t risk that. My life put at risk, for just one boy? How ridiculous.

Oh honey. If only you knew.

*******

So I was just called downstairs. I’m going to be moved within the week - maybe three days if it can be managed. The Eyes are beginning to search houses in the district to try and find someone (me). I am so terrified right now I can barely write this. I have fucked up in the extreme hiding here. He didn’t say it but I can almost feel the tension building until I am moved elsewhere. I really need to think of something, or else I am going to have a panic attack. Not that that would be anything new to me, I’ve had several, some of them quite recently too, in fact.

Okay then - back to boys.

When we were about fourteen I began to notice that he seemed to be… looking in my direction a lot? He seemed to be a lot more _smiley_ around me too. Whenever I would ask him what was on his mind he would always get dismissive, and so I would drop it. We would visit each other’s houses a lot, as friends of course. Reading, playing games, or even just talking. Often we would sit up in my room and read together. Sometimes we would meet up with friends, and yet somehow he would always find an excuse to be near me, or talk to me. I didn’t mind, exactly, except for the fact that he made it hard for me to think straight (ha), as well as breathe.

I knew for a fact that his family were not fanatic believers. From being part of one of the upper-class households he was relatively safe (although no one is truly safe or secure in Gilead, like Salem). I was the only one he had really asked to his house, and, as far as I know, I was the only one to know that his family were not fanatic believers like so many others. Somehow, he knew he could trust me, and I knew I could trust him, at least with certain aspects of myself, and we bonded that way. Among others.

Because we were foolhardy, and liked to be stupid, we decided one day that we would stay behind after a church service and make fun of the practice of Confessional. The Confessional booth in our church (as our families lived close to each other) is an old one: at least from the early 1800s, walnut and chestnut - I have no idea, but it was beautifully carved and a mix of light and dark brown woods. Maybe they were all light coloured, but they were stained, or maybe they darkened over time. I don’t know, and right now that isn’t important. What is important is that we stayed behind.

We waited until everyone had left the chapel room, and then we snuck over to the booth. I clambered into the side of the booth where the priest would have sat, and Luke got into the confessor’s side. We pulled the purple hangings across, concealing us inside. We folded up our legs under us on the seat, so they couldn’t be seen from under the curtain.

It was dark inside, and musty. It smelled of wood and slightly stale air. Two grills sat in front of me in the wall separating us. The anonymity and separation is on purpose: it makes it easier to confess, to repent, to tell our secrets and ask for God’s forgiveness.

The top grill had a small door which could be pulled across to either open to close the grill, and thus the communication. The grill was open, so I slid it across and closed with a snigger. Luke chuckled from the other side, muffled. This act of blasphemy, of stupidity was thrilling. If we got caught, we would be punished, but at that moment neither of us could care. It was just the two of us, alone in the darkness.

“Father?” Came the muffled enquiry from in front of me. I tried not snigger, and I cleared my throat and pulled myself together as I took a big breath.

“Yes, my son?” I said as stoically as I could as I slid the small hatch across. Luke wheezed and tried not to laugh, and I bit back a chuckle. I waited, but Luke didn’t say anything. Something was wrong. I waited for a moment, and just when I was about to ask what in fact _was_ wrong he replied.

“I have sinned.” He said, quietly, hesitantly. I was puzzled; he was taking this a lot more seriously than I originally thought he would. I replied in kind, wondering what would happen next.

“God forgives those who repent their sins and ask forgiveness,” I said in an exaggerated voice. He chuckled from the other side, but it had an edge of sadness to it - or uncertainty. “It is _His_ word.”

I paused, but Luke didn’t say anything, at least not right away. I remained silent. The unease was palpable. _Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this_ , I thought to myself.

Although now as I write into you, it doesn’t matter anymore, whether anyone finds out or not, because neither of us might be here when anyone does find you. Anyway, back to the confessional.

Luke finally spoke, and his voice was hesitant, quiet, barely above this whisper.

“I… like this… person. A- a boy…” He said at last. I froze and inhaled sharply. He would have heard me; it would have been impossible not to. I didn’t know what else to say, but part of my brain was screaming that this was wrong and that we were risking too much and that there might be a hidden microphone somewhere and that we should leave before someone caught us. But another, louder part of my brain was screaming in victory and my stomach was aflutter and my heart was hammering in my chest, almost ready to burst free and sing.

_He likes a boy he likes a boy he likes a boy who is the boy who is the boy who is the boy-_

“And I am so afraid, because if I say anything I am risking e-ending up on the Wall,” he stammered, and everything in me began to collapse like an accordion, one on top of the other into a pile inside. He was _so sad_. _So afraid_. “And this will probably all be for nothing and I am not even sure that I should be feeling this, if it is right, or wrong, or-“

“Luke,” I said, and he stopped dead. My own voice shook and I could feel my heartbeat pulsating in my neck. My hands were clammy and I had broken out into a frightened sweat. I was exhilarated, and terrified. I wiped my hands on my pants and opened the second grill, which dropped down on my side. No more noise came from his side. I released my shaking breath, before continuing.

“Who- who is this boy?” I asked softly. I felt like sprinting, especially since I swear I could feel something else coming. Perhaps it was a joke, a rejection, a trap. It could have been and I wouldn’t have known. Maybe Prue had accidentally let slip about my sexuality in front of or to someone, and they had told The Eyes, or another higher-up, and they had asked Luke to help lure me in, to do with as they willed.

I shouldn’t have thought this, because I know Prue would never do that. She was - _is_ \- not the kind of person to let things like that slip out easily, if at all.

I waited with bated breath for his answer. _You’re going to be rejected, its going to be someone else, its going to be a trap, the Eyes are outside and are waiting to burst in and tear you out and throw you into the back of a van as we speak-_

“You.” He said solemnly. My mouth fell open, and my heart screamed out in joy. Neither of us said anything. I just sat, electricity coursing through me. At last one of us did break the tension-filled silence.

“Percy?” Asked Luke in an almost-inaudible whisper. “Percy?... Oh lord, oh, please, _please_ don’t tell anyone I shouldn’t have said I, I-“

I shakily wiped my hand on my jeans and began to lower it towards the hole in the partition separating us.

“Luke,” I said once my hand had dropped down into the space. It was cold, metallic. I wanted to move my hand but I didn’t. “You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t tell anyone.”

He didn’t say anything. I thought I heard some sniffling, in fact.

“Actually, I’m glad,” I said. I could sense him perking up on the other side of the old, stained wood. I paused, took a deep breath, before continuing. “One of us finally said it.”

I heard a sharp intake of air, followed by a watery chuckle. Something shifted down below near my hand and then his came into view, like a small animal, afraid, unsure, scared and skittish. I opened my hand slightly, and his fingers slipped between mine. I almost sighed or shrieked out of happiness. This small touch sent me into tingles all over. It felt good, no- _great_. It felt _right._ I smiled, and tightened my hand on his. He squeezed back. Little did either of us know where this would take us.

So that is how we ended up together. If not out in the open then at least between each other, which is what mattered the most. I am glad of the time we had, because I think we were - _are_ \- all the better for it. After this, we continued to meet up, hang out, be friendly towards one another. We didn’t dare be open around our friends or our parents, especially mine. In the safety of our rooms we would hold hands, maybe cuddle, but we didn’t dare do anything more, lest someone accidentally walk in on us. This _had_ to be clandestine, hidden. Although now there is no point, people know, and we’ve been separated, and I hope I see him again, because the idea that I never will see him again is unbearable.


	6. 17th of October

**_S_** o I have finally finished shifting around stuff up in the attic. At least the room beside the hidden library. Commander Johnson liked the effort. I showed him, and he simply nodded and said “Good.” - as well as “Now start on the library.”

Three guesses where I am now - without a candle or a torch. I’ve shifted back one of the curtains slightly. I doubt anyone will notice the curtain cracked to the side ever so slightly. Since there isn’t much to do, and I’m not exactly sure _what_ he wants me to do I’m just going to procrastinate doing this for as long as possible. Hopefully this will keep me from going insane. Maybe just _going_ insane. I hate this long drawn out wait. Even though I am moving in a matter of days this is still nerve-wracking.

Maybe I should just work on cleaning up the library.

Wow this is dusty - extremely. When was the last time he thumbed through these? Some of the books are in different languages - French, German, Italian. Oh! And Spanish! I have no idea what they’re about though. Although I can try and guess, since some of the words are related to one’s in English. As a language we just steal and twist words and stuff them into our vocabulary.

Hmm, this is supposed to be a diary, a confessional, and yet here I am, musing on books and languages I do not understand at all. Such heretical content, must be terrifying and elucidating regarding inside information about Gilead. Maybe I should just write down my masturbation fantasies, or memories of Luke and I…. _doing stuff._ Although that wouldn’t exactly be important, and it would probably be destroyed or omitted were this ever found.

The outside is so cold, and bare. Naked. The trees which aren’t evergreens have shed their leaves into huge piles on the ground, which are rotting. It’s Halloween soon, in a few weeks. Although that would be considered heresy. _The Devil’s Holiday_ the priest at Luke and I’s church liked to call it. A time when heretics would get together and commit murder and _Sins of the Flesh_. Which, if you look at it from that stance, that is exactly what Luke and I did on multiple occasions. We were reckless, caught up, but the sensation of him wrapping his mouth around my cock it was worth it.

Thankfully we were never caught though, and my future is uncertain, so at this point I don’t really care who finds out now. Al _though_ , someone could read this and somehow find him. I haven’t mentioned his or my own last name, but they could still find him. Link me to him, this book to this location, then, again, to me. Vanity, greed, nor selfishness are virtues, yet this seems to be all about _me_ right now. _Me me me me me_. I’m the one which caused this mess, I’m the one Mayday is helping to get out, therefore this whole shitstorm revolves around me. I don’t really know what else to do besides complain. Maybe something will happen, maybe not. Maybe _God_ will decide to stretch this moment of waiting, and of not knowing, out in perpetuity. I don’t know, but we shall see, I guess.

*******

And so I’ve now spent several more hours slowly shifting books around. I don’t know how he wanted me to organise them, but I have tried to get them into some kind of order; if only alphabetical. I’ve been flicking through them intermittently as well; Charles Dickens, Jane Austen - Faust. The last one being of _particular_ heretical worth.

Maybe I should explore happier memories - how Luke and I developed our relationship. Yeah, I will do that. When we find each other again I can begin the recount to him, and we can bond over that.

*******

Okay so Commander Johnson just told me that The Eyes are getting closer. Mayday apparently already knows and they’re going to bring a truck to get me and hopefully vanish me away into the night. Or day. Whenever they get here. Luckily I now know that I have _two_ days left, instead of _three_. Although that means that The Eyes, and thus my potential end, is getting closer and closer.

But, to avoid giving myself a panic attack, I shall go back to what I was going to write before: about Luke and I’s illegal relationship.

So, to begin… where were we? Oh yes, we were at the church. Directly _after_ that we had to leave, and go our separate ways. We could barely stop smiling at one another. We did hug, though. Hugging is allowed.

We didn’t want to let go, but we had to. Anything _too much_ would have aroused suspicion. We promised to keep this going for as long as possible. The rest of the day was spent alternately sniggering or giggling happily, thinking about him and fighting a smirk or a smile. Prue noticed, and threw me a smirk along with a bit of side eye. Mum and Dad didn’t seem to notice. At least not then.

One of the first problems to be encountered was how we would communicate… _things_ to one another. Writing in a different language could be useful, but at the same time that would take time to learn, and that would be time that we could instead be having with one another. Symbols? Again, they could be decoded, especially as with a large amount of Gilead now operating on pictographs because girls weren’t allowed to read or write. At least not read anything beyond numbers, because people can’t get ideas based on numbers alone without the words to back them up. But then, I found the answer, which I thought of after the symbols: The Victorian language of flowers. People living in the Victorian era would often communicate their thoughts and feelings through different flowers. A bouquet could mean something special if you wanted it to. Something lovely - or something wounding. Whatever the person wanted it to be.

I thought of this in my room, and almost immediately I sprinted to my door, but then I stopped: if I ran full-pelt down the hallway Mum or Dad might ask what was going on. And, in my happy fug, I might just spill the details.

That put a stop to the fuzzy feelings right then and there, and things suddenly seemed colder, and closer. I opened my bedroom door slowly, and then made my way to my father’s collection of books in the attic, and rummaged through those until I found what I was looking for: the book on _floriography._ _Perfect._

I spent that night secreted in my room, reading the book by the fireplace, flicking through and trying to absorb as much as I could, before I _had_ to go to sleep. Mum and Dad always checked in on me; if not them, then Prue. Any of them catching me would have been scary, but Prue had become my only confidant, so I could trust her. She didn’t _know_ about Luke, not then, at least, which was perhaps for the best.

Next morning came with tiredness, but an obligation to be at school, so therefore I got up, and went. I wouldn’t have skipped, because I would have gotten in trouble with Mum and Dad - and Prue. But mainly because I wouldn’t have been able to see Luke. He and only _he_ seemed to be my main reason for doing a lot of things then. He is the reason why I’m here now, and for most of the things leading up to now.

I spotted Luke almost as soon as I entered the school grounds, standing over by the double doors which stood at the front of the huge and old red brick Victorian building which was our school building. The bell in the tower which loomed over us - and the main entrance blow - rang out loudly. Luke didn’t see me for a moment, but when he did he smiled brightly, with a look of endearment in his twinkling eyes. I had to consciously not drop down then and there. I smiled back, and he seemed to blush. Our classmates seethed around us and into the building, chattering away. We stayed close together in the hallway as we normally did. We tried not to shriek or cry out in happiness, as I later learned Luke was trying not to do. Our hands brushed against one other as we walked. The hallway was crowded, so we didn’t _really_ have any choice but to be pushed up against one another. We kept on smiling at one another too.

God truly seemed to have blessed us by putting us in the same classes together.

The first class both of us had we had together: English, or rather Literacy. This meant that today we would be reading. Silently. Without talking. I’ve forgotten what the book was about, or indeed what we did after, but those things aren’t important; what I remember is important.

Luke and I sat next to each other, opened our books, and began to read - or, pretending to read at least. I couldn’t help but keep flicking my gaze over to him - sidelong, though. it would have been noticed if I kept turning my head to look at him. He caught me looking once or twice, but he just smiled at me, privately. I felt happy and tingly all over.

The teacher - Mr Applegate - was patrolling up and down the desks, making sure that people read and were silent. Oh! We had to take notes for… some reason? We had paper and pens on the desk next to us, and we were supposed to be scrawling down stuff as we read, I don’t remember what for so obviously it couldn’t have been anything more than busywork. Although it could have just been boring. That is also possible. Anyway, that’s not the point; the point is that I was seated next to Luke, trying not to overtly ogle him. Not that he wouldn’t have minded, but now was _not_ the time _or_ the place. So, I decided to try out the way of communicating I had discovered. He probably wouldn’t get this, even though I know he likes flowers. So do I. They’re nice, especially when they’re scented.

I tore off a corner of my piece of paper, picked up my pen and clicked the button on top, and wrote down two words: _Yellow Pansy._

I clicked my pen back, and pushed the torn out piece of paper across to him. I didn’t turn to look at him, because that would have been obvious. I _did_ notice him stilling though, from the corner of my eye. I turned my book towards me again, putting down my pen. I pretended to read, poising my finger.

He extended his pinkie finger and slid the torn piece to the safe place under his hand. The teacher was now sitting up the front again, scribbling in a notebook, so I risked looking over at him, _oh so subtly disguising_ it by stretching, which I did need to do. I looked around at the classroom, and then at him. He looked at me and furrowed his brow. I flicked my eyes to the front: Mr Applegate was still writing stuff down, so I leaned over slightly and whispered.

“Later.”

“Sshh!” I let go of my hands and dropped them down from behind my head. Mr Applegate glared over at us. I nodded and then sniggered, before picking up the book again and genuinely beginning to read it.

“Oookay so what was that about back there?” Asked Luke, walking backwards in front of me. People seethed all around us, moving from one classroom to another. It was so loud and so busy I doubt anyone could have heard us, or cared.

“A message.” I said nonchalantly. He furrowed his brow again, and I chuckled- no. _Giggled._ He scrunched up his nose and furrowed his brow deeper.

“Yeah but what does it say?” He said, turning around and stopping so that I could catch up with him. I laughed softly as we continued walking. To where I don’t remember exactly, probably another class. I was too focused on Luke. Still am.

“You’ll find out later,” I said. “I’m not explaining it to you here.”

I tried not to laugh at the groan he let out. “But I want to know nowww…” He whined. I sighed.

“Come over after school today, and I’ll tell you.” I said with a shrug. It was my turn to walk ahead, and backwards, so I could face him.

“I don’t know if I can,” he replied. I shrugged again, even if a small part of me wanted to shrivel up like a dead flower. “I’ll check though.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to stay calm. _Play it cool, Percy, play it cool…_ “I guess I’ll see you later then.” We didn’t have this class together. I had Maths, he had Gymnasium.

“Yeah.” He said. I couldn’t help but sag a bit. I didn’t want to separate from him. He looked distinctly sad too. I raised my hand and waved at him, and he raised his own and waved back at me, and then we turned from one another and let ourselves be swept along by the crowd.

I got home quickly that day, thrumming with barely concealed nervous energy. I didn’t know if Luke was able to come over, but something within me said yes, and I decided to just go along with the hunch. I got to the house - my parent’s house - and ascended the small flight of stairs up onto the porch, and then knocked on the solid front door, made of elm. It made a solid knock. The rule was for me to knock before I came in. I was someone the door was not opened for - I was a child, and not important enough. If I was a married man of around Dad’s age the door would of course be opened for me by a Martha, or someone else of a lower stance than I. Anyway, I knocked on the door and entered.

When I closed the door behind me upon coming inside I spotted Prue standing in the foyer, looking as if she had been coming over to the door to let whoever it might have been inside, but it was only me so she didn’t bother continuing forward.

“Your father is upstairs in his study,” was the first thing she said to me. I nodded, and looked up towards the ceiling. I could hear faint footsteps, as well as talking. “So-“

“Don’t disturb him,” I cut in, finishing. I knew the drill. She pulled a slight disapproving face but nodded.

“Mm hmm,” she said, and then she turned and began to walk towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Prue, where are Mum and Myrtle?” I called after her before she disappeared.

“Your mother and Myrtle are down at the shops, getting some stuff,” said Prue. I nodded.

“Thanks!” I said, before bounding over to the stairs. Then I stopped.

“Also!” I called. Even though she was out of view I somehow knew she had paused again. “If someone knocks on the front door it might be Luke,” I said. I tried not to sound too gleeful. Someone, somehow, could have been listening.

“Okay,” Prue answered simply. I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it from around the corner of the wall next to the stairs.

“Thank you!” I said, and then I continued upstairs. I slowed down while I passed Dad’s study. The voices of other Commanders were clearer here. I stopped completely and looked around: Prue was downstairs in the kitchen, probably, and I was the only other person in the house besides my father and the Commanders.

I stepped over to the door carefully, and tried not to make the floorboards creak too much, and put my ear up to the crack in the door.

The footsteps had ceased by now, and now the deep reverberating voices of the Commanders filled the room, along with the inhalations and exhalations of cigars or cigarettes - I could smell the smoke from here - as well as the clinking of ice cubes against tumblers. No doubt a few drinks to help settle in to what were no doubt _strenuous_ talks.

“… how are the negotiations over the trade embargo with the Republic of Texas regarding us?” Asked one of the Commanders inside. I couldn’t see their faces so I couldn’t exactly put voices to names or faces, and anyway the Commander who just spoke didn’t sound familiar.

“Slowly, as can be expected,” said another Commander. If I had to guess I would say that _that_ Commander was Commander Willoughby. He was from elsewhere in our district, apparently near the border of ours and another. “They aren’t willing to retract certain sanctions against us for fear of losing support of other backing countries such as Mexico-“

“Have you suggested that if they don’t we could easily invade?” Put in another Commander brusquely. This was probably Commander Willis. He was known for being a bit of a hothead, and his son, Brent, was a bit of a bully as well. A charming inheritance from his father, no doubt. Commander Willoughby let out a sardonic grunt.

“If we did that Canada would tighten their sanctions against us, and they might begin making moves towards invading. Already they’ve been making overtures towards-“

“As if they would do that - they know that if they tried anything we could crush them like a bug. We could easily move units into Detroit,” cut in Commander Willis. “Besides, we already have the backing of China, one snap of our fingers and they could pull trade with Canada.”

“That would send the global economy into a tailspin, which would be suicide for us, not to mention them,” said Commander Willoughby, “and _might I add_ , that would be an _incredibly_ petty move.” He sounded indulgent, I could practically sense the smug energy from here. I heard someone move towards the door and I sprang away from it and moved down the hallway slightly. I waited for the door to open, and for someone to notice me standing nearby, but they - whoever they were - didn’t. I let out a sigh of relief, and continued to my bedroom, where I dropped my bag. Part of my brain shut off for a while, but another seemed to be whirring through what I had just listened in on. It seemed like Gilead was having a little bit of trouble regarding trade, although this wasn’t anything new: the rumours (information) about us which had seeped into the outside world was making most people unwilling at best to interact much with us at all. Plus, there were rumours spreading around that people were beginning to escape into the Republic of Texas, as much as they tried to deny it. No one would confirm it, of course; Gilead wouldn’t want to seem weak, and Texas wouldn’t want to incur Gilead’s wrath, even though they had fought them to a standstill. I zoned out for a while after that, until a thought popped into my head: the book containing the floriography meanings. I got up and opened my bedroom door and looked both ways down the hallway: no one was there, so I moved from my doorway and made my way up to the attic, where I looked amongst the hidden and forgotten books once again until I found the one I was looking for. _Perfect._

With the book in hand, I went quickly back to my room and shut the door, before going around to the side of my bed nearest to the window, and placed the book on the floor, before zoning out for a while.

A distant knock from downstairs roused me. I sat up, and made my way over to the door, opened it, and sped lightly down the hallway and to the small stretch of wall just before where the banister began. I heard Prue’s footsteps across the floorboards as she approached the door. The person knocked again; _knock knock knock._ I perked up. That sounded like how Luke knocked. I saw Prue’s legs stride along the foyer and over to the front door, which was out of my view. I swear I heard her mutter “All right, all right, I’m coming.” Prue vanished out of view and I heard the door creak open.

“Oh, hi Prue. Is Percy at home?” Came Luke’s voice. Warmth coursed through me and I tried not to shiver happily - but I failed, and did anyway.

“Yes,” she said. I swear I could hear her look look towards the stairs in her voice. “He’s up in his room right now.”

“Thank you,” said Luke. The door swung shut, and everything was silent. Prue must have nodded here.

“Commander Stanley is having a meeting with other Commanders in his study, so keep the noise down,” she added before Luke could thunder up the stairs.

“Of course,” said Luke obediently. He walked carefully across the foyer and then began to make his way up the stairs. I smiled and turned before making my way quickly down the hallway. I heard him get closer, and say “Hey!” I turned and smiled over my shoulder before continuing back to my room. Luke caught up to me and I couldn’t help but smile even wider.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in and almost breathing into my ear. I shivered, and blushed. He sounded so happy to see me. I turned and looked around us: no one was there, so I turned and leant in to his ear.

“Hey,” I whispered softly, making sure to get as much of my breath against his skin as possible. I heard him inhale the slightest bit, and I smiled to myself. I stepped inside of my room and shut the door.

Inside of my room everything was quiet, and still, yet the air seemed charged somehow, by some great _unknown._ We just stood and looked at each other - after he let his bag drop to the floor. We didn’t say anything for the longest time, we just stood, in silence, regarding one another.

“You’re so beautiful,” Luke muttered suddenly. I tensed, eyebrows flying up my forehead. His arm, which had been rising up towards my face, suddenly stopped. He furrowed his own brow.

“What?” He said. He looked around. “No one can hear us, right?”

I quirked my head, then grabbed his arm. “Get away from the door.” I said, tugging him further away from it. Then I let his arm drop and moved around him to lock said door. This was one of the doors in the house which had a lock, besides my father’s study, my parent’s bedroom, and the entrances to the house, among others. One of the few rooms which didn’t have a lock on the door was the spare room, which would otherwise be used by a Handmaid. For obvious reasons.

I led Luke over to the far side of the room, by the window, where we sat down behind my bed, blocking us (partially) from view. Here we were even closer, our knees touching as we faced one another. Something unknown and potential seemed to crackle between us. Some deeper part of my mind was speeding off elsewhere, and it took everything I had not to vanish there at this moment. Even now as I sit here writing this it still doesn’t seem real. It seems like it was a dream, something which never happened, but it did, and I am glad it did. Anyway, back to the memory.

I stared off into space in front of me. Luke gazed at me, as if in wonderment. I could barely believe this was happening. I blushed and smiled a small, secret smile. Both of these things grew even stronger and wider and bigger when Luke’s hand found its way to my cheek as he absently stroked it.

“I mean it, you know,” he said. My heart hammered and I couldn’t help but think that this was too risky - as well as the fact that I thought he was lying, or wrong. “You are beautiful.” He said softly, still stroking my cheek. I couldn’t help but nuzzle against his hand slightly. It was soft, gentle, and warm. My scalp felt itchy and hot, like it was on fire. I was blushing so hard then.

“No, you are…” I said softly. I looked up, and he smiled at me with a smile I haven’t seen him use anywhere else, except with me. We looked up and into each other’s eyes. It sounds corny, I know, but I felt like all of the air escaped from my lungs at that moment. A thought flitted into my mind which made me shrink into myself slightly. Luke noticed, of course. It must have shown on my face.

“What if they’re right?” I murmured sadly. He paused stroking my cheek, and I instantly wished I hadn’t said anything, because then he would still be doing it. “What if this is unnatural, something wrong, a sin against God-“

“Hey,” he said, quickly moving his hand from my cheek to my chin, and lifting my head so that I had no other choice but to stare at him, directly into his eyes. I began to relax as I lost myself in them. They were so beautiful… “We’re not sinners, first of all. And also, we’ve talked and joked about this sort of thing all the time. God made us and put us on this earth, so why would he make us this way?” He said. I sighed. I guess he was right. “And besides, how can something like this be unnatural?” He continued. I flushed, embarrassed and slightly overwhelmed. His eyes roved my face, then fixated on my eyes again. His expression was serious. “How could something which feels this natural be _unnatural?_ ”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I just can’t help but worry.”

“And you don’t think I do?” Luke said softly. “Of course I do.”

I sighed heavily, and Luke pulled me into a hug, and everything else melted away. I could feel his arms around me. They felt safe, and warm, and reassuring. Solid. _There._ I could smell him too, and feel his heartbeat, as well as his body’s warmth. I sighed contentedly and closed my eyes.

Footsteps and voices outside in the hallway snapped us out of our pocket of bliss and brought us back to the present. We released each other and sat back enough to allow us to breathe. Luke smiled at me, his cheeks reddened just like mine. We smiled at each other for a moment, until remembrance suddenly began to dawn on Luke’s face.

“ _You_ were going to show me something,” he said in a rush. I quirked my eyebrow for a moment, then remembered myself.

“Oh yeah,” I said, reaching under the bed and pulling out the book I had stowed there. “This,” I said, flipping it around for him to see, “explains what I wrote to you earlier.”

“Yay! Now I finally get to find out,” he said happily. I chuckled. “I thought you were calling me a pansy.”

“Not quite,” I said, flipping through the pages, explaining. “The Victorians had this sort of coded language, where they used flowers to relay messages to one another.”

“Oh,” said Luke. He hadn’t connected the dots yet, so I continued.

“So roses, obviously, meant love, and other flowers meant different things…” I said, flipping through until I found the page I was looking for. “Ah _ha_. _So_ ,” I said, closing the book momentarily and looking up at him. He was slightly confused, but also interested. He had one of his deliciously arched eyebrows raised and he was leaning in towards me. I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’ve found a way we can communicate with one another without people knowing what we’re talking about,” I said. A strange but cheeky urge gripped me, and so I gave into it: I gently swiped the shell of his ear with my tongue. He gasped and shivered and I smirked. I leaned back.

“Wh-” Luke put his hand up to his ear and wiped it with a finger. He blushed furiously and I smirked deviously. He shot me a glare, which then softened as the thought ticked over in his mind. _Then_ he smiled.

“Oh, wow, that’s… clever,” he said after a pause. Then he continued. “So… what does _yellow pansy_ mean?”

I smiled, and flicked the book back open and turned it around so it was facing him, and pointed to the diagram, which contained drawings of flowers, as well as their names, and basic meanings. His eyes flicked across them, and then stopped once he reached _yellow pansy._ His expression melted into an adorable smile and he looked up at me.

“Awww,” he said. He blushed furiously. Then his eyes flicked back down to the page again, before looking up at me again. “Hyacinth.”

I spun the book back around and skimmed the diagram. I smiled back him sweetly. “Why wouldn’t I?” I said simply. He blushed even harder.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said quietly. I quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“Oh really?” I simpered. He smirked back at me and leaned in.

“Really,” he said softly.

“Really really?”

“Really really really.” We were millimetres apart now. We could only really see each other’s eyes now, not that I didn’t mind. I could happily stare into them for hours, which, upon occasion, I did. We could feel each other’s breath on our skin. Luke’s eyes flicked up and down my face, and mine did the same with his. I had a faint yet surprisingly strong urge to do something I hadn’t done before, which anyone who eventually finds and reads this will hopefully know about.

_To kiss_ \- him, specifically.

Which is exactly what I did. Our noses brushed, our eyes fluttered shut, and our jaws dropped slightly, and we pressed our lips together, and tingly sensations rushed through the both of us. It felt new, exciting, wonderful, natural. Neither of us knew what we were doing. We moved our heads and lips slightly and our jaws as well. It was wet, with too much tongue. Now that I look back on it it was terrible, but at the time it was wonderful. We broke apart after a while, and I couldn’t help but groan slightly. The voices outside had grown distant. The other Commanders must be leaving. I opened my eyes and looked right at Luke. His lips were red and they glistened deliciously and I shuddered. His own eyes were glassy, but blown wide. He exhaled slightly, and shakily.

“So… um…” He said.   
“That happened.” I said shakily.

“It did,” he said with a slight laugh. Happy. He was happy, and relieved. It had happened. _It had finally fucking happened, with him! And he was happy! He was happy too!_

“Wow,” I said, voice shaking. “I…” I stumbled over my words, or lack thereof as of that moment. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Neither,” he replied, smiling at me. I smiled back. We didn’t say anything for a moment, and then:

“Do you… want to do that again?” Luke asked in a low voice. I opened my mouth to reply, without even thinking-

_Knock knock knock._

“Stephen? Are you in there?” Came the voice of my father from the other side of the door. I tried not to audibly sigh.

“Yes Dad,” I replied.

“Is Luke in there with you?” He asked.   
“Blessed day Commander Stanley,” replied Luke. He glanced over at me. We both knew that would be a _No_ for the time being.

“Blessed day,” replied my father. Then he walked off down the corridor. I listened as his footsteps got further and further away from me.

“I guess that isn’t happening, then,” Luke muttered under his breath once we were both sure that my Dad was far away from the door. I nodded.

“Sorry,” I said. Luke shook his head and threw me a smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “No sweat.” Then he got up and moved around to the other side of my bed and sat down. He dropped back across the bed and looked at me, now upside down. “I just wish we could though.”

I smiled stupidly. I was - _am_ \- so lucky to have a boy like this in my life. I may have been shaking and feeling completely drained, but I tapped into the last bit of courage and energy which remained inside of me, and pecked him quickly on the lips.

“Later,” I said, pulling back. Luke threw a dashing smile at me, and I smiled back at him. So much smiling. So much bliss.

I miss that. I miss him. Oh God, please protect him wherever he is. I wish I were with him again.


	7. 18th of October

**_M_** y hand still feels stiff after recounting all of that last night, but at least now you know about _the_ happy moment. Well, not _the_. _The_ would imply that event being the only happy one, and there are many happy events and memories, as well as sad ones. Maybe I’ll recount another. After I have a shower though. I’m beginning to smell.

*******

Okay so that was sudden. Commander Johnson just came in to tell me that I am probably getting moved tomorrow. Which is both good and bad: good because I’ll be on the move again and out of his hair. Bad because I’ll be on the move again and out in the open where anything could happen to me. Still, I suppose it could be worse. At least I won’t be stuck here for hours.

“So what happens now?” I asked Commander Johnson. He didn’t reply for a moment, but when he did I couldn’t help but snigger.

“The Eyes are closing in.” He paused, flicked his eyes over to me, then continued. “I think you should get your stuff together.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “What stuff?” I said, amusement evident in my voice. His mouth twitched. He couldn’t resist the humour either.

“Just do it. I’m not sure when _the vehicle_ will show up,” he said dismissively. Well _that_ filled me with confidence.

“Okay,” I said. He walked off into another room. I stood there in the hallway, the basement below me, the upper floors above me, with my eyes eying the darkness under the spiral staircase which led down to my hiding place.

 _Well shit_.

So that is where I am now. In my hiding place below the floorboards. I feel like I need to be extra quiet. I’ve only gone upstairs once more since then, and that was to grab a bottle of water and some biscuits. I’m making sure to take the smallest of bites every few minutes (okay that’s a lie. I’m barely holding myself back from shoving all three down my throat at once) to make them last. I’m not sure what else to write right now, or think about, or talk about. Maybe I should stare off into the darkness around me while I await my unknown fate beyond these walls. _You_ don’t have to worry about anything, except getting torn up, or burned. Or forgotten, and never found again.

*******

Well now I’m upstairs in the hidden library. I’ve shifted back the curtain and I am trying to be subtle and peek out and see as much as I can through the gap while opening the gap as little as possible. So of course this is an easy feat. Nothing seems to have happened yet. I’ll update as I see new stuff.

Okay so there’s nothing.

Still nothing has happened, apart from the small trickle of Marthas and Handmaids and Wives walking down the street, their Angels or Guardians not far behind. A dog did run by earlier, though, so that’s something. I wish I could go outside. I haven’t been outside for extended periods in a long time. Maybe if I somehow became a dog I could escape easier. Although then I would probably be shot if I trespassed. Also I’m not exactly sure where I am. I don’t really know which direction to go in. I would get caught, maybe taken in, adopted. Then I’d have my balls and dick cut off so I couldn’t have children. Not that I would anyway but that would hurt. I wouldn’t be able to _have fun_ with Luke anymore. I’m not sure how I would pee either.

I wonder if Luke is into pee? I didn’t think to ask him. I will when I find him again. _If_.

No, no _if_ about it; _when_. _When_ you find him again. He _is_ alive. He _has_ to be.

He has to be.

Well that was… interesting. Pondering Luke’s sexual fantasies. I don’t think we got _that_ deep into each other (in many different ways), so I genuinely don’t know if that would be something he would be interested in. I think I know what I should write about now, or think about, to keep myself occupied, otherwise I’ll go crazy. More than I already have. I haven’t started hearing voices though, so that’s something.

Fuck I need to piss.

*******

So what was I going to write about? Oh yes, the one subject I could go on and on and _on_ about for years: Luke. And our _exploits_ with one another.

Buckle up kiddos, this is going to be a wild ride.

After spending hours of our time together that night Luke and I eventually had to part ways. Even though we had to be especially careful now since Dad had finished his meeting with the other Commanders and Mum and Myrtle had returned home Luke and I felt more comfortable around one another.

We kept my bedroom door locked and shut, though.

I lit the fire in my fireplace and together we sat in front of it, talking and joking and staring into each other’s eyes, as well as kissing messily and suddenly and then laughing quietly between the two of us. We did our homework - begrudgingly - and when it came time for Luke to leave we tried not to feel too sad. I tried not to cry, and Luke’s eyes looked very red from what I can remember. We hugged for a long time before breaking apart and opening the door, and I felt like crying out. We had to retreat from one another and it was painful. Very painful. I didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want to leave either. He later told me that when he got home he sat in his room and cried, and I felt even worse. When I waved Luke off from the front door and watched as he got into the car which took him back to his house Mum seemed to notice that something was up. A very uncomfortable lump had lodged itself in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe, and I was feeling slightly numb. I really hoped I was keeping a straight face (ironic) or as straight a face as I could right then and there.

“Is everything all right Stephen?” She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I managed to get a small breath of air into my lungs.

“Yeah, just… just a bit of a cold, I think,” I muttered. I shrugged her off and turned around and walked quickly across the foyer.

"Stephen. Stephen!” Mum called after me. I ignored her. I couldn’t focus on anything right now, I had to be alone. I felt like screaming. I bounded up the stairs and kept myself from jogging down the hallway, before fleeing into my room and shutting the door after myself. I looked around, I didn’t know what to do but suddenly I felt like screaming and throwing something, anything. But I couldn’t, because then my parents would have punished me, and they would have asked what was wrong, and I might have told them. I looked around to see what I could throw, or what I could do. There was my bed against the south wall, the fireplace to the north, the door to my bathroom next to it, and my walk-in wardrobe behind the door. The wall was thick there, and there were two doors between me and the outside world, so that’s exactly where I decided to go. I didn’t emerge for some time, but I couldn’t. Not until every emotion had been pulled from me and I had somehow managed to silence my sobs. Everything felt cold, numb, I wanted to be with him again, but I couldn’t. Maybe this was a portent of things to come, I don’t know, but I know as sure as shit that it nothing else I had felt up until that point had stung quite like it.

I really should write and think about something else. This is getting too depressing. Hang on. I think I can hear someone coming. Time to hide you away again. See you soon.

*******

Well if that doesn’t fill me with panic, nothing will.

Commander Johnson just came down to tell me that The Eyes are closing in, and that I have to move tonight. I’ll try to recount what just went down. Maybe I won’t have a panic attack, but probably I will. I think I can feel the all-consuming fuzziness coming on.

Someone - Commander Johnson - knocked on the bricks just before the turn-in to the basement.

“Hello?” I said, sounding incredibly unsure. I was trying to not be here. Luke, or the hurt felt from him leaving for the very first time, was haunting me.

Commander Johnson walked into the centre of the room. I shook myself out of the reverie I was sliding into - willingly or not is besides the point - and sighed heavily.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. He looked… _concerned_. Worried. Stressed. He sighed heavily again and looked down at the floor, made out of flagstones worn smooth over years of being trodden on. He didn’t look up at me, not right away anyway.

“There’s no easy way of saying this,” he said slowly, “But the Eyes are closing in.”

He looked up at me then, his jaw clenching, grinding his teeth together. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I shuddered.

“What?” I squeaked out meekly then. “W-well what is happening with me, then?” I could feel myself beginning to go fuzzy even then. My soul seemed to be leaving its body, leaving forwards while my physical remained seated where I was. Commander Johnson licked his lips.

“Look, you’ll be gone by the time they get here. I’ve organised a truck to come and get you out. They’ll be here after dark. The Eyes will probably be here a little later on, but all we can do is hope and pray you get out of here before-”

“They get here, gotcha.” I said. He nodded.

“I’m sorry I dropped this on you suddenly, but,” he paused, “I suppose you know by now how these things go.”

“Yep, I do,” I said. I sat there, reeling, taking it all in. I really was getting in the way; I really _am_ getting in the way, and fucking things up for everybody. I might as well not be here, not be alive. Maybe I should have stayed behind, at home, gone wherever whomever anyone had deigned to take me. I wouldn’t be here, putting anymore lives in danger.

He patted me on the back and then turned and left the room. And this is where I am now. Waiting down here in the semi-dark for the truck to come, or The Eyes to sudden burst me in and drag me out into the darkness, or the glaring light of their torches and searchlights. It always gets like this before a move, but The Eyes haven’t gotten this close before. I’m shaking as I’m writing this. I don’t think I’m ready to die, not yet. I still have more stories to tell, to write down, so that this might have a chance to tell _my_ story, when or if my brains end up splattered against a wall, or if I end up on _The_ Wall. If that does end up being my ending I suppose I have no one else but to blame for myself. I just hope that they don’t find this, or that I leave it behind while I’m still alive, or while it’s still unfinished. I hope it survives long enough to find its way into the right hands, hand which won’t rip out these pages and tear them into tiny pieces before throwing them onto a fire. Maybe that might be the smart thing to do, quit while I’m ahead.

No, I’ve come this far.

Fuck that.

My story isn’t done yet, neither is this. I will find and reunite with Luke someday, whether tomorrow, next week, next month, or maybe in another life or Beyond. In the meantime I might as well sleep, or retreat upstairs, by which I mean into my mind. Its not like I haven’t done it before. I’ve gotten exceptionally good at it these past few weeks, maybe months (I’ve kind of lost track of the days and weeks, because I was hiding even before I found this notebook and a writing implement, a pen or a pencil), since I haven’t really had much else to do. Being alone is a blessing and a curse. Blessing because you can think without being distracted, but a curse because you can think without anything distracting you.

I wish Luke were here, so I could talk to him.

Hmm, I think I know what to write or think about next. Luke. Always a favourite subject of mine. Its not like I can think about much else, because everything else would make me cry. Although frankly now that I think about it thinking about Luke does also make my eyes water now. Fuck sake.

Okay maybe not. I didn’t have much time to think, but I think I can here the Commander coming. I can hear footsteps above me, and heading towards the stairs. Maybe its The Eyes, although I don’t hear shouts or protests or running, so it could not be them. It could also be them, but wouldn’t it be better to remain calm? Maybe I should hide. I will, so here goes nothing, goodbye for now, dearest.

******* ****

Well that was slightly insane.

Now, to get you up to speed, I shall recount, retell.

It wasn’t the Eyes after all, just Commander Johnson. But he was _very stressed_ out. He looked like he wanted to throw something, or tear his hair out.

“Your getaway is here, but we only have minutes to get you out, so come on,” he said. He held out one to usher me away. I threw on what I had taken off, and I picked you up and tucked the pen into my pocket. He put an arm around my shoulders and we quickly made our way across the basement and up the stairs. He pushed a blanket into my arms as we began to ascend the stairs.

“Wh- I-”

“Take it, you’ll need it. It’s cold out tonight,” he said quickly. I felt a little warm at that as I opened my arms enough to accept the blanket and bundle it over them. _He really does care about me_ , I thought then. I couldn’t help but smile.

We emerged up into the hallway. I could hear distant rumbling in the distance, however it soon became louder and louder; _far_ too soon for my liking. The previous warmth which had bloomed inside of me was doused like a small fire by a bucket of cold water. I could hear sirens too, and so could Commander Johnson, who froze in place. Goosebumps erupted on my arms and legs and I shook slightly. Commander Johnson’s hold on my shoulders tensed.

“I’m guessing that’s not Mayday, then,” I said. An understatement to say the least. Commander Johnson shook his head.

“No,” he said. “They’re out the back in the lane. That’s-” he gulped. “That’s the Eyes.”

“Well they have a great sense of timing don’t they?” I replied. He exhaled through his nostrils.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “They weren’t supposed to come this early. I thought they were going to come later.”

“They’re the Eyes,” I said with a shrug. “They do what they want to do.”

“Well that is very true,” Commander Johnson replied.

“So what happens with me now? Surely I can’t get out with the Eyes coming.” I said. “They’ll see me.”

The sirens were getting louder and louder as the Eyes got closer and closer.

“I can’t hide you here. I’m sorry but you have to go. You’ll get out.” Commander Johnson said. He began to turn us away from the front door and towards the back of the house.

“But won’t they see the truck? Or hear it?” I said, alarmed.

“They won’t. They’ll be too concentrated on the front; besides, their backup arrives a little while after them and that’s what will get you in the shit if we aren’t quick. Now, we have to go,” he said. I unwrapped the blanket from within my arms and he let go of me long enough for me to throw said blanket around my shoulders. We were practically running down the hallway now as the screams of sirens got louder and louder. They were a street away now, if that.

We got to the back door at last. Commander Johnson opened it and suddenly the sounds of sirens and engines rose exponentially. A quiet thrumming and ticking over of another vehicle came from somewhere out in the darkness.

“This is it, then,” I said. Commander Johnson nodded, and looked back over his shoulder towards the front of the house, down the hallway, looking for the flashing lights of the Eye’s vehicles through the glass.

“Yep.” He said, and then, “The truck is waiting in the lane. Just go back through the bushes like you did when you got here, and then you’ll see the truck. They’ll ask for a password, which is _May leaves._ ” He looked down at me for a moment. I looked back up at him. We stood there for a moment, regarding each other as the scream of sirens got louder and louder and closer and closer.

I hugged him.

“Thank for everything you’ve done for me,” I said, having to raise my voice ever so slightly as the sirens got louder and louder. He hesitated for a moment, then hugged me back.

“It’s no problem, kiddo,” he said. I smiled, and sniffled. He let me go and I turned around and looked out into the backyard. He gave my back a little push.

“Go,” he said. “They’re almost here.”I sighed, the cold air making my breath mist in front of me. I pulled the blanket tighter around me. I turned back one final time, and nodded while tipping my hand from my forehead to show my gratitude. He returned the gesture, and I turned around and jogged across the yard. The screams of the sirens was at it’s loudest yet as I crunched across the backyard, over the grass, thankful the noise easily covered anything I was almost certainly making in that moment. I reached the arch of mayflowers at the end of the backyard and paused for a moment, before reaching up and yanking a bunch down and holding it close to me. I turned and saw the back door swing shut as the screams of the sirens reached their loudest yet. I turned back, and dove into the bushes, the leaves and twigs and branches snagging me as I went.

I held the broken-off sprig and my notebook and edge of the blanket in one hand and felt out in front of me with my other hand. _Come on come on come on come on don’t let me get caught or lost now_ , I thought as I felt around for the gap I knew was in front of me, and then, my hand met cold metal and I felt around it, and then felt cool air against my skin. I grabbed the edge of the metal there and yanked it towards me; it shrieked, but was covered by the noise of the sirens and the now much-closer and obviously now-louder rumbling of a nearby truck engine. I pulled it towards me, opening a gap wide enough for me to slip through, and slipped through it. I pulled it closed behind me and turned around. I saw a hulking shape in the darkness, denser then the darkness around it, but the paintwork and metal and plastic and glint of starlight and moonlight reflected off of glass was becoming more and more noticeable by the second as my eyes adjusted.

I jogged over to the truck, and looked up.

A man in a set of smart, black overalls looked down at me and tipped his cap, which was dirty and red. His gaze flicked over my face, the blanket, then down at the flowers I held in my hand.

“Whatchu got there?” He asked, in a drawling accent which sounded far too _Southern_ to be up this far north.

“Mayflowers,” I said, and then, “and May leaves.”

He softened, then, and pointed to the back of his truck. It had a tray, and some sort of tailgate. It was already down. He opened the door of his truck and hopped down and looked around. “Follow me, and be quick about it.” He said, and walked around to the back. I stayed beside him the entire time. He reached up and felt around in the darkness and turned, and something popped out, then he felt around and twisted again and something else popped out as well. Then he lifted up part of the tailgate and gestured with a hand.

“Now hop in and,” he said, kneeling down and cupping his hands so I could hop up into the truck. I swear I could hear shouting now, or electrical chatter. (They must already be here.

 _Fuck_.) “Grab onto something and stay low. There are things in there you can cover yourself with, and curtains you can pull across the windows, but stay out of sight,” he said. I nodded. I threw you in first, then the flowers, then the blanket, before hauling myself up and inside. I grabbed you and pulled the blanket over me as I shimmied inside. The guy pushed the tailgate down and turned whatever those things were to lock it again, then moved around the side of the truck, got in (I felt the truck shift slightly) and pulled the door closed. He knocked on the window up behind my head, which was in the back of the cabin, and pulled it across slightly.

“Now hold on tight,” he said. He started the engine again and everything started vibrating underneath me. I pulled things over me and bundled something soft but oily (it turned out to be an old t-shirt and a jacket bundled together) under my head to cushion myself with and then pulled the curtains across the windows. I lay down and exhaled as I felt the truck jolt and then behind to move. I saw some slight shift in the light which got around and under the curtains, and I heard the distinct screams of the sirens, but already they were getting a little quieter - more so than they already had been by the plexiglass and metal between myself and the open, cold night air. I lay back, and relaxed. _I hope Commander Johnson will be all right_ , I remember thinking. But now that I think about it that is all I could have done for him. Hope. I don’t know what happened to him, and I never will know. I hope The Eyes didn’t take him away, to be interrogated or tortured or _Salvaged._ I hope he managed to evade them somehow, or avoid dying or being killed. If he did die, end, that it was quick. He was kind, and I am truly grateful for what he did for me.

But I know this is hoping in vain, he probably has died, or if not now then soon. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I’m here, I’m safe, on my way away from here, to somewhere else.

And so that is where I am now. In the back of a truck, bumping around. I have shifted onto my side to write this all out, but now I think I should finish this, and close you for the night, before lying back and settling down. Who knows, maybe I might even fall asleep for a while. Everything is suddenly starting to hit me now that I’ve calmed down, and I am _very_ tired.

So, ta ta for now, and see you sometime later on, either later tonight, or tomorrow, in which case, we shall see what tomorrow brings.

There aren’t as many lights showing through the curtains now. I don’t know how much time I lost but all I know is that when I came to I was here. So, to pass the time until we stop and I’m dropped off I’m writing in you. I might as well; I have nothing but time in which to record things.

I have no idea what to write about though, so maybe I’ll just vanish back up into my head.

Okay so we just turned, I felt the truck go around a corner. I can see lights moving past the curtains. Obviously we aren’t out in the country yet.

Just keep waiting, Percy, you’ll get there soon enough.

Well then. We’ve stopped. I should put this away. See you in a little while.

Okay then. This is odd. I should say more but I can barely see what I’m writing, and my eyes are wanting to close. I’ll write in you tomorrow, but for now I need to find somewhere to lie down and sleep.

I just need to be quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with Percy and myself as we follow Percy's journey out of Gilead. Now, I am sorry to announce but in order to continue this story I am going to have to go on a hiatus to catch up on writing which I have been sort of procrastinating on.   
> But worry not! I know where the story is going, and there is certainly more to come for Percy. 
> 
> I am not sure how much more there is to the story though, or how long it may take to write, so there isn't a definite timeline of when I will update next. But I will. Thank you again for sticking with me so far, and I look forward to seeing this story through to the end with you, dearest readers!


	8. 19th of October

Aaaand good morning, my sweet. Last night was odd. But let me get you up to speed on this current situation of mine.

So I have been dropped off at something called a _shopping mall_. It’s old, and has been abandoned for years, apparently. There is stuff everywhere and hardly anyone comes here, and so this is why I’ve been dropped here. I don’t know how long for, but apparently there will be people coming around every once in a while to make sure I’m still here, and still alive. One of those things can’t be helped: I’m stuck here, and I don’t know where I am. The other, well, that will be more difficult. Or maybe it won’t be. You see, I’m based in a department store for now, called _Walmart_. It’s very… big. The walls are all white and its pretty much one big space with partitions all around for various sections. It would have been organised once upon a time but now its in complete disarray. Shelves have fallen over and items are scattered everywhere. I’m not sure what to do but for now I’ve plonked myself over in the _Bedding and Manchester_ section, on a bed which was set up here. Must have been a display. I slept well last night, actually, once I got to sleep. While I was exploring this store I saw food items scattered around: packets of chips, chocolates which have probably gone off by now (everything looked dusty), and even bottles of water!

I just need to find a place to pee, though.

Well I found that place. The bathroom is still here, and somehow the water is still connected? Anyway I could flush the toilet. It was dark in there though, and I was worried someone would jump out and accost me, maybe even kill me, but the stalls were empty. There was a lone shoe left on the floor, though, and some paper towels were scattered. It’s pretty lonely here, which I am kind of sad about, but am also grateful for. I won’t run into anyone by accident and be given away, but at the same time I’m all alone here, with just my thoughts, my voice, and you. Still, it could be worse. I could have lost you, but even then I would still be lucky, since I would have myself. Although now that I’ve written in you so much I don’t think I’d like to lose you; I would be left vulnerable, and I like you. I can look back, read back, vanish elsewhere, or revisit myself from the past, even if I haven’t written in you much at all, really.

But enough about that. I was going to write about something else, wasn’t I? Oh yes, last night. It went something like this:

The truck stopped in the parking lot. I heard a knock on the window behind my head and the grating as the glass was pulled back.

“We’re here,” said the guy with the Southern accent. I relaxed and tensed at once. We were _where_ , exactly?

“Okay…” I said. The guy grunted, then pulled the window shut. I picked you up, and pulled the blanket around myself as I shimmied towards the tailgate and moved stuff out of my way. The shape of the guy appeared at the window (I’d pulled the curtain back) and undid the locks and popped the tailgate up and I got out and into the cold night.

The parking lot was empty, overgrown, disused. Weeds and shrubs were growing out of cracks in the tarmac. Light poles stood all around us, but only one or two of them I noticed were working, the rest of them were dark.

“So? What happens now?” I asked. The guy turned and looked at me with raised eyebrows for a moment, but then he relaxed them.

“You get inside and hide is what you do,” he said as he put one arm around my shoulders and began furtively steering me towards the hulking building in front of me, full of nothing but darkness and the unknown. He kept looking back over his shoulder, just in case someone would happen to pass by this old lot, but no one did. From what I saw when I was out of the truck and walking across the tarmac we were getting out towards the middle of nowhere. This looked like it would have been a main road once, but to where I didn’t know.

We got to the front of the mall and the guy broke away from me for a moment to unlock one of the doors: the front entrance would have once been nothing but glass, looking into the main central corridor of the complex, but now it was almost completely boarded up, or else taped up. The bottom of the glass was boarded up to above three feet above my head, so no one could see in. The guy took a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed inwards. It scraped and shrieked for a moment before swinging open. He gestured inside. I stepped forward and peered through the doorway and into darkness. I didn’t exactly want to go in there alone.

“And so I hide in here, I’m guessing?” I asked. It seemed stupid even then, and I remember cringing inside as soon as the words left me. _Of course, where else would you bloody hide?_

“Yep,” he replied. “You can easily find yourself a place to sleep and hole up until someone comes to get you. I know for a fact this place should have beds in it somewhere.”

“And when _would_ someone be coming to get me?” I asked. The guy shrugged his shoulders.

“How am I supposed to know? My job was to get you here, and you’re here. I’m sorry but I don’t know anything more than that, besides that you should be gone in a week or two, or whenever.”

_Well that’s comforting._

“Thank you.” _I guess_.

The guy awkwardly inclined his head.

“The person who comes to collect you should have another set of keys,” he said. “They won’t know where you are, so I guess they’ll make some noise for you to come out.”

“Well that sounds solid,” I said. “Like a bell or something?”

“I guess so,” he shrugged. We stood there for a moment, awkwardly regarding each other: one person, with their backs facing towards infinite internal darkness, the other with their back to finite external darkness.

“Well, guess I’ll be goin’ then,” the guy said. I nodded and extended a hand, which he regarded carefully for a moment.

“Thank you,” I said. He considered my hand for a moment longer, then took it.

“No problem at all, kiddo,” he said. He tipped his cap for a moment, then shut the door. “Remember to stay out of sight!” He called through to me.

“Yep!” I replied. Then silence. More complete darkness swallowed me after that as the door was locked from the other side and moonlight streamed in through the glass at the top of the entrance. It was arched from what I could see, but the glass which might have formed the roof above me was dusty, grimy, and most of all _painted_ over or else covered by tarpaulins.

Lucky me. Nobody could see in very easily.

I heard the distinct sound of an engine starting up, and then wheels crunching on tarmac as the guy must have pulled away and back into the night. I was alone again. In a massive shopping mall.

And so I began to explore, which is how I ended up here. So now I wait. Again. All on my own, which to be fair is a first, but it doesn’t feel like it. I’ve practically been on my own in the basements I’ve hidden in, but there have always been other people on top of me on the upper floors of the houses. Here I’m in a massive space. Here I _command_ a massive space, which is surreal. I can do what I want here, within reason.

But I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t feel tired, and in any case I don’t think I can. Too much light is getting in for me to shut my eyes again and slip away.

Hmmm.

Oh! I know! I can set up my base here, and explore some more. There are other shops around here, and maybe one or two more wings. From the outside this complex looked huge.

But first maybe I should set up shop. In case anyone comes knocking.

*******

Okay that was a task and a half (a phrase I heard Prue use a lot): I’ve managed to rearrange my little pocket in the store. The bed is staying here it is, but I have cleared off the surrounding shelves and moved them so that there are roughly four “walls” surrounding me, making it a “room” of sorts. I’ve put some stuff I thought I might need back: towels, blankets, pillows, snacks I’ve managed to scrounge from elsewhere in Walmart. I would have put one or two of the plants around here on the shelves just as decoration but they’re all dry and wilted and dead. So that puts that idea down in the ground.

Now I should probably explore. But first I think I’ll rest. Lugging everything around is exhausting.

Hang on.

I need to barricade the front of the store, in case someone comes in here, so only I can get in.

Fucking hell, this is going to take ages; be back in a while, then.

*******

So now I have set up a barrier entrance. It took hours (I know because the light shifted in that time) which requires one to turn three corners; the path through winds like a snake. It won’t stop someone but it will slow them down. I can improve stuff the longer I’m here.

I just hope someone doesn’t decide to set this place on fire, or demolish it. Although if this place really _has_ been here since Before I don’t think they’re going to get rid of it anytime soon.

Oh! After that I explored the rest of this shop and so I’ve gotten a lot more stuff. I’ve taken some of the other clothes which were left here and changed (because my old stuff was smelly) and I’ve also gathered up some decor. I know I can’t take it with me but I may as well prettify the place if I am going to be here for a long time.

Hmm, seeing as it is almost night time I need to find a source of light. I did see some candles on some of the shelves around the place, so I should probably grab those, and I need to find some matches, or lighters. There should be some here, in a massive place like this.

Be back in a little while, then.

Okay so I have the lighters, and I’ve set up some candles on the shelves around me. I’ve made sure that there is nothing on the same shelf as a candle; at least, nothing which is likely to catch fire. We wouldn’t need that happening, not again.

Maybe I shouldn’t have candles after all.

I think I know about what to talk about now. One of the few topics I can. Luke. It’s a happier memory, I promise. It’s sweeter, cuter, more innocent than I have been for a while. Although frankly I wonder if I was ever innocent. I know I’m not now, because I know all of this. But I would rather not be innocent and able than innocent and not able.

Anyway, I’m getting off track, and I promised a story. So here it is.

Since we were the sons of Commanders, we had certain privileges that other people did not, especially not the girls, which is unfortunate. One of those things was that we could go to various places on our own, or at least be escorted there by someone, usually a Guardian or an Angel who had been assigned to our house, but not this time.

Luke and I hadn’t managed to meet up all day at school, our classes hadn’t aligned. So, at lunch we decided to meet up after school. It was still the early days of Us then, but we had had to continue hiding it from everybody around us, lest we be given away, and pulled apart. Obviously this happened or I wouldn’t be here, writing in you.

After our bedroom _rendezvous_ \- actually I shouldn’t say that, we didn’t have sex, at least not then. After our bedroom _meeting_ (I don’t know they all sound sexual) Luke decided he would be the one to decide on the place where we would go. I smiled at this; he really wanted to do this with me, huh?

He did.

After school we had to go our separate ways, but only briefly. It didn’t hurt this time (at least not as much as when he left my house for the first time), so I didn’t have to worry. He threw me a dashing smile across the crowd as we swept out of the front doors and into the courtyard, and I smiled widely back and waved. Then we were pulled apart by the crowd.

I remember that I hadn’t been able to concentrate on much that day, what with the impending rendezvous with Luke on my mind. _Boys boys boys_ , as one song from Before went; and which was applicable in this situation too.

The day inched past slowly, and I somehow made it until the end of the day. I practically threw myself into the back seat of the car and somehow I managed to pull myself together by the time I got home.

The car pulled into the driveway, I got out, and walked up to the front door. I could hear voices, talking, somewhere behind the door. I paused, only for a moment, and then I heard footsteps on the concrete path behind me, so I turned, and our Guardian was walking up the path towards me. I turned back around, opened the door, and went inside.

My father was talking to someone in the foyer; my mother was next to him, and the both of them were looking at someone in brown standing in front of them. My mother wasn't talking much; merely standing there and smiling while making noises of assent. My father was doing most of the talking besides the person in front of him.

_An Aunt._

I was confused: there isn't a reason I could think of why an Aunt should be here, but then I realised; _there are several reasons why she could be here._

_Fuck, they've found out about Luke, oh no oh no oh no..._

"Stephen," my father said. He smiled. The Aunt smiled as well. I quirked my lips in what I hoped was a smile. My father's expression hardened somewhat, and he inclined his head slightly. Evidently I hadn't done that well enough. _They're smiling at least, so I don't have to worry about... Luke and I._

"Blessed day, Aunt..."

"Tiffany," my father supplied. Aunt Tiffany smiled.

"Blessed day, Stephen. Your father and I are just talking about you."

"Really?" I said. "I hope about nothing untoward." I smiled. My father and mother laughed.

"No, no, nothing like that," my father said. "Now, Stephen, I think you should go upstairs to your room so your mother, Aunt Tiffany and I can continue discussing..."

"Arrangements," said Aunt Tffany. I nodded. I felt relieved. So long as they didn't know about Luke and I, I didn't really care about anything else. So that is exactly what I did. I bid goodbye to Mum and Dad and Aunt Tiffany and went over to the stairs and raced up to my room, where I shrugged out of my uniform and waited.

I tried to do homework, but I couldn't concentrate. I sat on my bed, and stared out of my bedroom window and down into the backyard, and then the line of trees beyond, which concealed a creek which ran from left to right. I didn’t know where the end of the creek was, but I knew that eventually it hit a bridge.

 _Fuck it_ , I decided suddenly. I turned on my bed and pushed myself off of it and walked over to the door. _I want to know what they’re talking about._

I opened my door, and stepped out into the hallway, and made my way to the stairs. I paused here. Myrtle must have been in her room. Actually, yeah, she was, I think I remember her playing, because I could hear small thumps every now and then coming from one of the rooms behind me.

I crouched down, and then carefully moved several steps, then stopped, and grasped the railing and peered between the rails. I couldn’t see my parents or Aunt Tiffany in the foyer anymore.

_Must have moved into the lounge room._

“… so I was thinking, maybe this girl, once they’re old enough…” Came Aunt Tiffany’s voice from downstairs. I shuffled down the step slightly and curled my fingers around the banister to hold me in place as I listened in.

Aunt Tiffany - from what little I had seen of her before being sent upstairs ten or so minutes ago - was young, with kind eyes, and brunette hair pulled back into a bun; she was probably in her late twenties. I couldn’t help but get a “big sister” feeling from her. I didn’t really get to know her beyond saying “Blessed day” before being sent upstairs. So now here I was, listening in.

“Hmm, perhaps, although I’m not sure she would be a _perfect_ match… how about one of the others?” Said my father. My lungs tightened, and my blood ran cold as I realised what was going on.

_They were planning my marriage_.

“Certainly…” Said Aunt Tiffany. I heard some papers being shuffled around on a surface; the coffee table. Then there was silence, until-

 _Knock knock knock._ I perked up. That sounded like how Luke knocked. I saw the bottom of Prue’s legs stride along the foyer and over to the front door, which was out of my view.

“Blessed day, Commander Stanley,” came Luke’s voice, and I tried not to shiver. But I did anyway. "Is Stephen here at the moment?"

"Yes, he is, he's up in his room. I'm guessing you're here to see him." My father said. Luke must have nodded here.

"Yes I am, oh. Blessed day, Aunt." Luke replied. He must have turned and noticed Aunt Tiffany. "And blessed day to you, Mrs Wright."

"Blessed day Luke," my mother replied.

"Blessed day," said Aunt Tiffany. There was a pause here.

"Anyway... I'll go upstairs now."

"All right," said my father. "Keep out of trouble, will you?"

Luke must have smiled his dashing smile. I sighed, barely audible. "I will," he said. My father and mother chuckled. So did Aunt Tiffany. I think.

My face heated up and I looked down, before I heard footsteps make their way across the foyer floor and over to the stairs.

 _Oh shit!_ I leapt up and hoped Luke didn't spot me on the stairs and raced towards my room. I raced inside and dropped myself down on the bed and waited, hands folded in my lap. I tried to put on a blank face; a _poker face_ it was called. Before.

"You look flustered," said Luke, who was suddenly standing in the doorway.

I blushed. I felt my face get even warmer. He smiled his secret smile; the one he saved just for me. I felt all warm and fuzzy. I can feel myself going that way too, right now as I'm writing this.

"Get in here and close the door," I said, already getting up and walking over to him. Luke reached behind him and began to close the door. I walked up to him and put my hand on the doorknob as well as the door was closing. Our hands touched. His hand felt nice; smooth, with a little bit of hair on them, down near the wrist. For some reason the veins rising up from his hands made me feel... Weird. Something in my torso felt forceful. I looked up as the door clicked shut and saw that he was blushing, and looking at me through slightly closed eyes. I blushed.

"What?" I asked. I felt like shying away from his gaze, but he still held onto me.

"You're pretty," he said simply. I looked down and smiled. Luke lifted one hand and touched my cheek, running his thumb back and forth. My skin tingled.

"You really are," he whispered. He bent and kissed my head. My smile grew wider. We stayed like this for a long time, or what seemed like a long time. And then he pulled away. I looked up. Luke was smiling.

"I didn't think I would be meeting your parents so soon," he said in as deadpan a tone as he could muster. My mouth twitched.

"Well you already know they love you, so you don't have to win them over again," I said. I sniggered, and so did Luke. We stood after this, not saying anything, simply looking at one another. Then I stepped forward, and opened the door to my closet behind the door and stepped inside. I grabbed a scarf which was sitting on a shelf and yanked it down before winding it around my neck. I grabbed another and handed it to Luke. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this for?” He asked. I tried to keep my face blank, but something must have shown because he raised his eyebrows. “What have you got planned?”

“Nothing,” I said, “but I have an idea. Follow me.”

We stepped out of my closet, shut the door, then opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. I could hear Mum and Myrtle playing in her room, and for a moment I wondered what any other situation this could have been like; that I wasn’t hiding Luke, or holding part of myself inside. But that was not the case. We were still in Gilead, under the auspices of the all-seeing, all knowing Eyes, and Commanders, and nothing could be done about it.

I decided not to acknowledge this. I pushed the thought down and walked down the hallway, turned left at the stairs and then descended, my hand gracing the banister as we descended. My parents were still in the living room with Aunt Tiffany, and Luke and I snuck past without arousing too much attention. Even walking around with Luke felt clandestine, forbidden, as if we were almost about to be caught. Which I guess we could have been, but at that moment I didn’t really care.

When we reached the kitchen, it was empty. _Prue must be elsewhere_ , I thought. I went over to the back door and tried the doorknob - it gave, and so I opened the back door slowly, trying to avoid making too much noise. Luke stepped forward, and we both looked around for a moment to make sure we were alone. Then, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I blushed, and he smiled, and then he slipped past me through the door and outside. I followed suit, and made sure to close the door gently behind me. I almost flinched when the door clicked into place again.

 _I hope we don’t get locked outside,_ I thought as the door clicked shut.

Luke stood in front of me, looking around with a puzzled look on his face.

“So,” he said. “What are we out here for?”

I smiled, and then stepped forward, looking around to make sure no one could see us. As far as I could tell no one could. But it was silly of me to think that, now I realise. Someone must have been watching. Someone is almost always watching.

“Follow me,” I said innocently. He threw me a look which for some reason felt searing, but in a good way. I shivered all over. This is what Luke did to me then. He still does it to me now.

I walked forward and past Luke and over to the back fence, which looked down a slight incline to the creek. The gate was there, with its quintessentially rusted lock. I yanked on the lock and it gave, and I pulled it out and carefully opened the gate. It squeaked a little, and I froze. I felt Luke shift behind me slightly, and so I pulled the gate open just enough so that I could squeeze through. I held the gate and then Luke took it from me and pulled it slowly closed as he followed after me.

I looked back over my shoulder and smiled at Luke, but then scanned the house behind us. I thought I saw someone shift through the glass of the back door, but I thought then that I was probably just imagining things. I would come to know later that I had in fact seen someone, and who that someone was. But apart from that vague silhouette I saw no one else.

I turned back and looked down into the trees in front of us, going to the left and to the right along the creek.

“And into the trees we go,” I said. I made my way down the slope and Luke followed after me.

“Are you sure this is safe?” He said as we reached the tree line. I nodded.

“Perfectly-” I stopped short as my foot slid from under me and I began to fall. Luke’s arms shot out and wrapped themselves around my middle as he held onto me and stopped me from falling.

“Please don’t fall and hurt yourself. I don’t want to have to explain how you hurt yourself, or why,” he said. He sounded concerned, and I melted a little bit. I summoned up a little courage and turned and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“You don’t need to worry,” I said as I extricated myself from his hold, even though part of me would have been fine with just standing there forever, the two of us together. “Plus, we need to get in there,” I continued, pointing into the trees.

“Okay then,” Luke replied, sounding a little uncertain.

“Don’t worry,” I said, even though I understood why he was so worried. We were doing something we shouldn’t, and if we were caught there would be dire consequences. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

He smiled at this, and I smiled too. He was so cute and sweet.

Then I turned, and walked through the trees, pushing aside branches as I went. I could feel Luke behind me as we went deeper into the trees, and then I stopped. We were standing on a large rock jutted out of the edge of the creek, and trees surrounded us on all sides. A small stream of water ran off to the right in front of us. Luke stepped forward - I could see him in my peripheral vision - and looked around.

“And how did you find this place?” He asked. His mouth had dropped open slightly.

“I was wondering where we would be able to… meet together without being seen, and this place came to mind, so I came down here-”

Luke turned suddenly and cupped my head in his hands and kissed me. I melted and kissed him back as one of his hands dropped from my face and snaked its way down to my lower back. It stopped, spread, and pulled me flat against him. We both smiled. Luke stopped kissing me, and we both leaned back a little and opened our eyes. He locked gazes with me, staring right into my eyes, and I into his.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, with what I hope, _no_ , I _know_ was absolute sincerity. “Just like you.”

My smile widened.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, leaning in again. We were foolish, being out in the open here. Anyone could have stumbled upon us, and then we would have been in it up to our necks, but no one did, and for that I am grateful. Luke's hand - the one still on my face - kept me from kissing him entirely. His eyes searched me, and I noticed him retreat slightly.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He seemed worried; scared, almost. Neither of us said anything for a moment, and then his expression relaxed, and he looked back into my eyes.

"I just... I'm worried that if I say anything it will ruin what we have going here, that something might happen and I won't be able to see or do anything with you anymore."

My mind flicked back to Aunt Tiffany and my parents, and I shivered slightly. Luke dropped his other arm and snaked it around me before pulling me even closer to him. I could feel his heartbeat in his chest, and it was thrumming quickly. I melted at this. _I really make him feel this way._

"Well," I said slowly. "I think you should say it now, despite how much it appears to be scaring you. But I promise," I said, lifting his face up as he avoided my gaze, "That it will not affect anything." Even though I was beginning to fill with dread. _What if he doesn't like me anymore? What if this is all a trap? Set by someone, the Eyes maybe, but how could they have found out how could they-_

"I... I-" He stuttered, looked down and blushed, then looked back up at me, and when he did there was a steeliness behind his eyes. I noticed him stand a little taller too. _Fuck it._

"I love you," he said, all at once. His heart was racing now, and I could see the steely confidence fading in his eyes; already the portcullis was coming back down.

My mouth dropped open and everything suddenly retreated, and it was just him and I, hanging in space.

"...what?" I squeaked. I felt like I was swaying on the spot, even though I was standing perfectly still.

"I love you," he said again, but this time it was more hesitant. "Oh, what have I done I shouldn't have said anything Percy please forgive me-"

I leant forwards and cupped his face in my hands and kissed him with everything I had. He gasped and then began to kiss me back as we embraced each other, arms wrapped tightly around one another with the intention of never letting go, and for that moment it was just us down by the creek. Our parents, society, Gilead and even God vanished, and it was just the two of us, together, hanging in space; nothing else. I wish I could go back there, to when things were simpler, to when it was just Luke and I, together.

Maybe I shouldn't have done this after all. Any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And hello again, dearest readers! I hope you are enjoying the story so far and I am so sorry that I have had to stop updating for the time being while I've gotten up to speed with writing - I can't exactly say I've been writing another batch of chapters; I've been procrastinating a lot; also because life has gotten in the way, as can be evidenced by the world right now. I've also encountered a few little problems with writing this story. I do, however, have an ending in mind, and thusly I know where it is going. That is something, at least.
> 
> BUT, know that even though this isn't me once again bringing a regular schedule to the table that this is a little treat for you all who still may be waiting for future instalments, and to that I say thank you, because I do enjoy writing, and knowing that my stories may be bringing joy and escape for people, no matter what.
> 
> Thank you again so much for reading and finding enjoyment from my stories. It means the world to me.
> 
> Fondest wishes, the Author.


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